


In Perfect Love and Perfect Trust

by TheLilyMaiden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eating Disorders, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Neo-Paganism, Sibling Incest, Wicca, Wincest Big Bang 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4739186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLilyMaiden/pseuds/TheLilyMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While helping John and Bobby with research for a hunt, Sam and Dean come across an intriguing book in Bobby’s library. The book happens to be an introduction to the religion of Wicca, and when Sam and Dean delve into it, they know immediately that this is the spiritual path for them.<br/>Throughout their adolescence, Sam and Dean do spells and rituals to aid them both on hunts and in their daily lives.  They form powerful connections with various deities such as Aphrodite, Thor, Lakshmi, and Artemis, and come to understand that just as witchcraft isn’t a sinful practice, neither are the feelings they have for one another that grow stronger with each passing day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Wise Awakening (Narrated by Aphrodite)

**Author's Note:**

> Art Link: http://stargazingchola.livejournal.com/1391.html  
> Special thanks to winchesterchola (Tumblr) aka stargazingchola (Livejournal) for the beautiful artwork. It was such a pleasure working on this with you!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The creation story quoted in this chapter is actually from Silver RavenWolf’s Book of Shadows for the New Generation Solitary Witch. The book wasn’t published in the time frame that Sam and Dean were kids, so I chose Cunningham’s book instead, even though I don’t own it and have yet to read it.

Sam Winchester was twelve years old the very first time he prayed to me, his wobbly knees folded up beside the makeshift altar while his father and brother slept. I was surprised to hear the prayers of a Winchester, for theirs are usually directed to Artemis or Thor. Of course, I hear all prayers nonetheless, for I am one and I am many. Deity is far more than its various facets, and vaster than the sum of its parts. At the time however, Sam was still learning this. His palpable nervousness echoed across the walls; Dean would laugh and snort at him for praying to a girly deity, and Dad would simply lose his shit if he discovered Sam was interacting with a pagan god. 

“Everyone thinks you’re a goddess of sex or something,” Sam whispered to me, “but I think you’re more than that. I think you’re more of a goddess of love in general, and um, I know I’ve never prayed to you before, but…I think you’re the best one to help me with this.”

I reached a palm through the veil to cup his cheek. He subconsciously leaned into it, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.

_I am listening, my child,_.

I responded, encouraging him to continue.

“I love my brother. Like a lot. But...I’m not sure…if it’s too much. Is it possible to love someone too much?”

I have existed for centuries, first in Greece, then in Rome under a different name, and later all across the planet. I have witnessed many types of love. I had yet to, and have not since, witnessed the form of love that existed between Sam and Dean Winchester. I am a goddess, and I know all there is in the realm of sexuality, romance, love, affection, and adoration. I knew that what existed between Sam and Dean was beyond those; it transcended the definitions and the notions. 

I wrapped little Sam Winchester in my arms and held him to my chest. I kissed his forehead and told him in the small way I could that what he felt for his brother was pure, genuine, sacred, and not wrong in any way what so ever. Sam relaxed in his kneeled position, turned his head upward, and parted his lips. I perceived that he’d received my message, and I smiled. In the near and far future, I would be acquainted with Sam and Dean many times, and a profound bond between us would blossom. I washed Sam in sleepiness and encouraged him back into bed, allowing him a dreamless sleep and a tiny amount of peace.

 

***

It was Sam who found the book, sprawled on his stomach with his feet in the air, half of Bobby’s library piled around him. Dean sat on the couch, face scrunched up similarly to the expression he made while eating vegetables. “Uh, what are we researching again?”

“Yellow-Eyes. Hunting. Demon stuff. Remember?”

“You’re the smart one, Sammy. Can’t you just do it?”

“Uncle Bobby said we have to work together!”

“But I’m borrrreeedddd.”

Sam huffed, slamming shut a chapter on long-distance exorcisms after deeming it relatively worthless, and turned back to the pile. His brow furrowed when he spotted a foreign author. Scott Cunningham, Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner. “Dean?”

“Hm?”

“What’s Wicca?”

“What’s what?”

“Never-mind, I’ll ask Bobby.”

The moment Sam didn’t want to share with him, this “Wicca” thing suddenly became extraordinarily fascinating to Dean. “Hey, gimme!”

“It’s mine! I found it first!”

“I wanna see it!”

“Get your own, jerk!”

“Bitch!”

Bobby chose that moment to stumble in, hands on his hips. “You best not let your daddy overhear you calling your brother names like that, Dean. Could getcha in a lotta trouble.’

“Sam started it!”

“Did not!”

“Did to!”

“Boys!” Bobby crossed the room, placing himself between the two brothers. “Enough! What’s this about anyhow?”

Sam was first to his feet, clutching the book to his chest. “Dean tried to take this from me but I wanna read it!”

Bobby eyed the title partially hidden under Sam’s scrawny arms. “Cunningham, eh? Good find. You wanna borrow it for a few days?”

Sam beamed. “Yeah! Thanks, Uncle Bobby!”

“‘Course, kid. Now Dean, you leave your brother alone. You can read it when Sam’s done.” 

“But I wanna read it now!”

Bobby sighed heavily. “Why don’t I read it aloud to both of you?”

“But Dad said we needed to research,” Sam insisted.

“You kids have been researching for far long enough. Your Daddy—”

Bobby stopped short as the front door swung open and the signature exasperated footfalls of the one and only John Winchester reverberated through the house. “Speak of the devil,” Bobby mumbled, handing the book back to Sam before leaning down to quickly whisper “Better keep that hidden Sam. Not sure if your daddy’d approve.” 

Sam opened his mouth to question that statement, but only managed to choke out a squeak before John entered the room holding two sacks of groceries. Sam hastily shoved the book under one of the piles before meeting his father’s eyes.

“You boys find anything useful?”

“No Sir,” Dean replied, “not yet.”

John dropped the bags heavily on Bobby’s desk. “Well I got us some grub. No use researching on an empty stomach.”

Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean, silently communicating something on the lines of He’s awfully friendly today. Dean frowned back briefly; the amulet Sam had given him only a year earlier bouncing slightly on his chest as he stood. If Bobby had cared that Sam gave the amulet to Dean instead of John, he never mentioned it.

Dean joined John at the desk and began rifling through the grocery bags. Sam reopened a book at the top of a pile, flipped to a random page, and began to read again. The words blurred against his eyes, and he bit his lip in frustration. “Why not take a break, Sam? You’ve been at it for hours.”

At Bobby’s request, Sam raised slowly, his back and neck cracking as he stood. He meandered over to the rest of his family and began unloading sandwich ingredients and sodas. Sam wasn’t hungry though. The book he’d found seemed to be imprinted in the back of his mind, and his eagerness to read it escalated throughout a quiet dinner. Around 8:30, he feigned a stomach ache, snuck into the other room to grab the book from its hiding place under the pile, and ventured up to the tiny bedroom he shared with Dean during these visits at Bobby’s. Sam settled in on the far side of the queen bed, closest to the window. A strip of moonlight splayed across the thin blankets. He stripped down to his boxers and slipped under the covers, rubbing his eyes as he laid the book temporarily in his lap.

Sam realized he actually did have a bit of a stomach ache, and struggled to keep his eyes open while he leaned back against the wall and flipped to the first page of Cunningham. He didn’t exactly know what he expected to read, and the introduction surprised him—it was a Creation story: how the universe came to be from a perspective he’d never heard before. Promptly awake again, Sam read voraciously, burning through fifteen pages of words that somehow made sense to him in a way nothing really ever had before—in a way that felt so right that his chest seemed to be full of color and a contrasting heavy lightness.

Sam was still sorting through the emotions the story had provoked within him when Dean entered the bedroom, ripping off his clothes and flopping on the opposite side of the bed bed, face buried into the pillow.

“Dean?”

“Mmmph.”

“I found something cool.”

“Hmmph?”

“In the book Bobby lent me. Wanna hear it?”

Dean rolled onto his side, eyes meeting his brother’s, tiredness and fondness mingled around within emerald irises. “Sure, Sammy. Read away.”

Sam flipped back to the first page and blinked a few times, reorienting his vision to the words. When he began to read, it was softly, reverently, taking time to pronounce each phrase.

“Long, long ago, there was only darkness—a deep, ebony ocean of empty infinity—the void that was no place. From this place of nothingness, Spirit drew in upon itself, and with a mighty burst of joyful vibration, our Lady of Light exploded into being, Her essence the totality of perfect love and perfect trust.”

Sam glanced up briefly to make sure Dean wasn’t bored as shit or disgusted by the initial girly tone, but Dean was still, cheek resting on his fist, looking up at Sam expectantly. Sam continued.

“In Her heart She held the presence of Spirit, and there was no part of Her that was not divine. In delight, our Lady began the Great Work. She danced among the heavens, Her bare feet beating out the rhythm of all creation, giving birth to every pattern of energy as sparks of light catapulted from her Flying hair and extended fingertips.”

“Sounds kinda badass.” Sam could hear the cheeky smirk in Dean’s voice, and inwardly sighed in relief.

“She created the stars and planets and bid them to dance with Her…She gave them names of power, each unto their own. These things moved from the void, into the thought, given the breath of life, and then into the world.”

Sam continued reading, explaining how the Goddess had created herself a consort (the God), serving as her both her soulmate and partner in creation. Together, they created the entirety of the universe, but the story paid special attention to their creation of the Earth and its creatures. The story’s diction was truly gorgeous, and Dean found himself captivated by Sam’s narration. Despite that Cunningham sounded kind of cheesy at times; Dean felt that his words were sincere—that this subject for Cunningham was one wrought with passion and adoration.

“So…” Dean began, “Is this a religion?”

“Yeah. It looks like Wicca is a religion based on nature worship…and…” Sam bit his lip, looking up at Dean. “Witchcraft.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. “But witches are evil! This…this is like the opposite of evil.”

Sam continued to explain, hurriedly. “It doesn’t seem like that kind of witchcraft though. It seems…peaceful. Like about helping people. Look, it even says here…” Sam flipped to a few pages after the creation story, stopping about a third of the way through the book. “The Wiccan Rede Says—”

“The Wiccan Rede?” Dean’s raised eyebrows carried though his tone.

“Yeah, like Wicca’s codex or something. It says, ‘An Ye Harm None, Do What Ye Will’.”

“So basically…we can do anything we want, as long as we don’t hurt anyone?

“Sort of…” Sam frowned at the book for a second. “It also says, ‘Mind the threefold laws you should, three times bad and three times good.”

Dean snorted. “I don’t speak metaphor, Sammy. English, please.”

Sam huffed, running his fingers through his ever-growing hair. “It’s like karma. It means if you do something good, good things will come to you, but three times more intense. And the same with if you do something bad. Bad stuff will happen to you, but three times worse than what you did.”

“So like, what you put out, you get back, but more?”

“Yeah.” Sam put the book back on his lap and closed it. “I wonder why Uncle Bobby said I shouldn’t tell Dad about it.”

Dean straightened up. “He said that?”

“He said Dad probably wouldn’t approve.”

“Huh. Maybe it’s ‘cause of the witchcraft thing. But it straight up freaking forbids hurting anyone.”

Sam’s lips twitched. “That includes yourself, too.”

Dean chuckled. “Don’t worry about me Sammy.”

It wasn’t until Sam was half asleep, his head on Dean’s chest, Dean’s arms lazily wrapped around his shoulders, and book resting on the bedside-table, when Sam’s stomach tightened up again as he realized that what Dean said has basically just implied that he should be worried.

***

Sam, Dean, and John left Bobby’s a few days later—Cunningham’s book tucked in the bowels of Sam’s duffle-bag. Metallica blared from the speakers as the impala flew across the pavement; Dean humming along from his seat beside Sam, and John’s eyes fixed firmly on the road, hands white-knuckling the steering-wheel. Sam leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder and began to doze. 

Lately, he’d stopped asking Dad where they were headed. The conversations tended to resemble the same pattern every time.

Sam: Dad, where are we going?  
Dad: Blahsville.  
Sam: Why?  
Dad: Because I have a lead there.  
Sam: A lead for what?  
Dad: Don’t know yet.  
Sam: What—  
Dean: Dad’s tired, Sammy. Just let him drive.

Every stop was relatively the same anyway. Dingy motel room, tiny town barely on the map, new school for three weeks tops and then back in the car again—no one ever telling him what the hell was going on or how terrified he should be on a scale of 1 to We’re-Totally-Dead.  
Sam chose this moment to enjoy the brief mental quiet and allow himself to be enveloped by the hypnotism of the pavement and road-markers. He dreamed a little, but nothing significant—just snippets of Dean grinning and an emotion that could only be described in sunlight and echoes.

They pulled into that night’s motel around 11:30—a dingy little crap-hole off the Kentucky interstate, called The Rubbernecker (a name that Dean laughed at for a solid minute before Dad told him to shut up and get a move on). Sam stayed in the car while Dean and Dad went to get the room keys, stretching his arms over his head and cracking his neck. He’d slept too much through the trip to logically be tired, but he found himself desperately craving a bed and a Dean to sprawl out on. 

Dad had mentioned a few times that Sam and Dean were getting too big to share a bed, but he never ended up doing anything about it; after being stuck in a car for sixteen hours, no man should be forced to sleep on the floor. 

Sam didn’t know how, but no matter how far on opposite sides of the bed they started on, by morning, Sam’s head would be on his brother’s chest, Dean’s arm draped around him lazily, both having drooled all over each other throughout the night. It was never weird or gross though—it was comfort. It was home.

The following morning, Dad handed Dean the room key, a wad of ten-dollar bills, and registration papers for the nearest schools. “Be back in a week, tops. Dean, watch out for Sammy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Breakfast was flavorless oatmeal and annoyingly pulpy orange juice. They packed matching lunches of PB&J with the crusts cut off, and Dean walked Sam to the bus stop. “Anyone picks on you and I’ll beat their ass to a pulp, okay?’

“Okay.”

“See you later, Sammy.”

“Bye, Dean.”

On the bus, Sam retrieved Cunningham’s book from its hidden place between notebooks and folders in his bag. He read it open on his lap (so as to hide the title) until the bus pulled up to the school. Sam began his usual ritual of walking to the front office, submitting his paperwork, giving the overly-sweet office managers a strained smile, and finding his way to his new classroom. The teacher, Ms. Mainer, made a show of having Sam introduce himself to the class. As he shyly explained how his family moved around a lot, bangs hanging awkwardly over his eyes, he wondered if Ms. Mainer counted as someone whose ass Dean could beat to a bloody pulp. 

Sam always made an effort not to talk very much in school, especially not to other kids (conversations lead to friendship, friendship leads to attachment, and attachment is not something a hunter’s son should develop) but when a girl with bouncing blonde pigtails and a galaxy warming smile asked if he wanted to be partners for the art project, he couldn’t bring himself to say no.

“I’m Jessica,” she told Sam as she slid into the seat beside him. “What do you want to draw?”

Randomly thinking of the night he’d given Dean the amulet, Sam replied, “A pony?”

Jessica beamed up at him. “You like ponies too?”

“Yeah. I really like the yellow ones with white manes and tails.”

“Me too!” Jessica drew the appropriate colors from a box of crayons Ms. Mainer had handed out and passed half of them across the table to Sam. They were quiet for the initial outlining and sketching of the pony, the silence eventually broken by Jessica asking “What should we name it?”

“Do you want it to be a boy or a girl?”

“Hmm it looks kind of like a boy.”

“Okay.” Sam thought for a minute. “How about ‘Dean’?”

Jessica’s eyes seemed to twinkle, and Sam felt his heart pick up pace. “I like it.”

Ms. Mainer graded the drawings during recess, in which Sam sat on a swing reading Cunningham while Jessica played hop-scotch with the other girls. It was social code that boys and girls can interact in class, but during recess, cooties were a very real, very dangerous disease.  
When Sam and Jessica got theirs back, they found that Ms. Mainer had given them a check-plus on their artwork.

Jessica grinned at Sam. “That’s the second highest grade there is! Hey, do you want to come over after school? We can work on homework and draw some more.”

Sam’s face fell. “I—I can’t. My dad’s out of town and he wants my brother and me not to leave the motel while he’s gone.”

Jessica gaped. “Your dad left you here by yourself?”

“I’m not by myself. I’m with my brother.”

“How old is he?”

“Almost fourteen.”

Jessica still looked concerned. “Will you be okay by yourselves?”

“My dad leaves us alone a lot. We’re always okay.” 

It was true. With Dean, he was always okay. As far as Sam could remember, Dean had never once let anything bad happen to him. Sam was fairly certain that Dean was Superman when he’d smashed the spider that’d tried to crawl into Sam’s crib, when Sam was whisked away from waddling into the busy street by the motel by a swift, strong Dean, when Dean came up behind the scary cloaked man with blue light in his mouth with a shotgun—and would have shot him had Dad not come bursting in at that moment and done the deed himself, when Dean stole Sam presents last Christmas and held him as he sobbed at the realization that monsters were real, protecting Sam from his thoughts as well as the outside world. It was as though as long as Dean was with him, he was immune to all the monsters and things in the dark. When it was just him and Dean in their PJs watching cartoons on the crappy motel-room TV with their bowls of Cheerios, dozing off on each other’s shoulders, he’d never felt safer. 

Sam wanted to explain all that to Jessica, but he didn’t think she could understand. Besides, what he and Dean had was private somehow; untouchable—and at the end of the day when he met Dean back at the bus stop and flung himself into Dean’s arms for a long, clingy hug, he could tell by Dean’s fierce hug back and the way he buried his face into Sam’s shoulder, that Dean felt the same.

***

When Dad said he’d be gone for no more than a week, Sam and Dean were well aware that he generally meant a minimum of three. As usual, it was Bobby who called the motel to let them know. 

“You boys alright?”

“Yeah, thanks Bobby.” 

And per custom, Dean didn’t mention that they were running out of food and money for it. Bobby worried about them enough (probably more than their own father did). They had oranges and string cheese for dinner that night. Dean tried multiple times to give Sam part of his orange, but Sam refused. “It’s fine Dean, I’m not that hungry.”

“Quit lying to me Sammy.”

“Seriously, you eat it. Please.”

They brewed tea afterwards, stealing some tea bags from an open box at the front desk of the lobby, hoping the hot fluid would fill their stomachs a little more. Sam always liked the sweetness and warmth of tea—a sensation that numbed and rejuvenated the body simultaneously. Dean despised it though, and choked it down only to avoid Sam’s indignant expression.

By the end of the second week, they were down to one can of Spaghetti-Os and half a box of Cheerios. That was the first time Dean explained to Sam what shoplifting was.

“Dean, that’s stealing. We can’t—”

“Sammy. I’m not letting you go hungry.”

They managed to sneak a jar of peanut butter and a box of crackers into their backpacks, before they noticed one of the clerks looking at them suspiciously, and decided to leave with what they had. 

That night, Sam stayed up reading long after Dean had gone to sleep. He’d read about two-thirds of the way through Cunningham’s book by then, most of which had discussed Wiccan theology, godforms, moon cycles, astral correspondences, and ritual set up. The last third of the book, he found, was a collection of spells—and there were spells for everything; for bringing love into your life, for protecting yourself against malevolent energies (Sam took the time to write those in a notebook in case of an emergency), for confidence, for money…Sam’s mind jerked to attention.

_For money._

.

Flipping frantically through the section, Sam located the simplest spell he could find; one that required no more physical materials than a green candle and some anointing oil. He figured he could do one last shoplifting run—just a quick in and out—to acquire those, and continued to read, memorizing every last step. He paused though when he realized that part of the spell involved a prayer to Lakshmi, the Indian goddess of wealth and good fortune.

Sam bit his lip and leaned his head back against the wall. Dad had hunted a few pagan gods before, and according to his description, all of them were nasty. Yet Cunningham said nothing about actually summoning Lakshmi, and asking for assistance was all mental, and of course in line with the Wiccan Rede, didn’t hurt anyone. No weird sacrifices, no creepy items, not even any blood-letting; just asking the goddess for her help.

Sam turned to Dean, sprawled on his stomach next to him, snoring lightly into the pillow. Dirty blond hair fell across his eyes and waved slightly with each exhaled breath. Sam’s chest throbbed at the sight of his invincible, untouchable brother, so vulnerable like this. So hungry. Sam set the book on the bedside table, turned off the lamp, and slid under the covers to entwine his legs with Dean’s while they slept. Dean made a few sleep-angst noises but pulled Sam closer to him out of habit. Sam nuzzled in as he slipped gradually into unconsciousness.


	2. No Rest for the Wiccan (Narrated by Lakshmi)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spells, practices, and other information I have said that were mentioned in Cunningham’s book are entirely my own creation. They are indeed valid Wiccan practices, but as I have never read A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner, I cannot say whether he even mentioned anything remotely similar to what I wrote. Also note that when Sam says, “May this spell not reverse…” he is using a spell technique from Silver RavenWolf. Lastly, result of the money spell is a very inaccurate portrayal of how money spells actually work.

I watched over Sam Winchester while he stared nervously at the New Age store, Enchanted Insights, from across the street. When he at last found the courage to enter, he found the shop empty other than the teenage girl at the counter. He nearly backed straight out the door again and ran down the street, but when she smiled and asked, “Is there anything I can help you find, sweetie?” he found his mouth opening on its own as I helped him voice his needs. 

“I um…I need a green candle…and anointing oil?”

The girl’s smile faltered slightly. “Money troubles?”

“Yeah.”

She studied him for a few moments, head tilted slightly to the side. “You’re hungry.”

Sam felt his eyes swell. “Yeah.”

The girl reached under the counter, fumbling for a moment, before drawing out a bag of chips and an apple. “I’m Lily,” she told Sam as she stepped out to hand him the snacks and greet him properly. When Sam tried to protest taking her food, she promptly quieted him. “It’s okay, I promise. I know what it’s like to be hungry.”

Sam found himself biting into the apple ravenously, shamelessly letting the juice dribble down his chin. “I’m Sam,” he mumbled back between bites.

“Why don’t you sit down?” She gestured to one of the lounge-chairs towards the back of the store amidst walls overflowing with books. Sam complied gratefully, and Lily sat in the chair facing him, hands folded in her lap. “It seems like you’ve had a stressful few days.”

Sam nodded, eyes cast downward so Lily wouldn’t be able to see in them how stressful those days really were. Lily sat with him as he ate, not speaking. Vaguely, Sam thought that the silence should be uncomfortable, but it wasn’t—or maybe he was just too hungry to care.

“You were planning to steal the spell ingredients, weren’t you?”

Sam’s head snapped up. “Are you psychic?” he blurted out.

“Nah,” she replied, unfazed, “I’m just smart.”

“Why are you helping me?”

“Like I said, I know what it’s like to be hungry. Are you trying to help out your family?”

“Yeah.”

Lily stood, meandering around the store as Sam continued to eat. She retrieved a small green candle, a candle holder, a box of matches, and a particular oil from a vast shelf that had Sam incredulously wondering how she knew which one to pick. She slipped back behind the register, put all the items in a bag, and sat across from Sam again, setting the bag on the table between them.

“Listen, Sam, technically I’m not supposed to do this, but I’ll make you a deal. You can have this—in fact, please take it; I hate to think of a kid starving—but if you wouldn’t mind helping me out around the store for a few hours this week—”

“Yes!” Sam blurted.

Lily laughed lightly. “Alright. I work Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday until 5:00. Just stop by whenever you can.” She raised an eyebrow. “I can trust you, right?”

“Yes! I’ll—I’ll bring my brother too.” As soon as the sentence fell from Sam’s lips, a knot formed in his stomach. Dean was unlikely to act positively to him taking charity, nonetheless to him doing a spell which involved communicating with a god.

“That’s great! I definitely get a bit lonely here all by myself. Our merchandise isn’t that frequently sought after, so customers are rare.”

Sam nodded, somewhat distracted from licking the last chip crumbs from his fingers. He suddenly realized how overly full he was. His stomach must have shrunk in the last few days.

Lily gave Sam the number of the store, just in case he needed anything else. He pretended not to notice when she snuck another bag of chips and a few sticks of incense into his bag of un-paid for merchandise.

When Sam got back to the motel, he found Dean sitting at the table, looking a bit constipated as he studied the history book in front of him. “Sam, why should I give a damn about the French revolution?”

Sam tried to think of a few reasons why The French Revolution was at all relevant to their lives, but drew an absolute blank. “No clue. But uh, here.” Sam tossed the bag of chips so that it landed squarely in the center of Dean’s open textbook.

“FOOD,” Dean squealed. “Where did you get this?”

“A girl gave it to me.”

Dean smirked. “A girl from school?”

“No, um, from the New Age store downtown. The gemstones looked kind of cool so I went in, and she said I looked hungry.”

Any other time Dean would have teased him about conversing with an actual real live girl, and Sam would have told him about the other things Lily gave him, but they were both far too hungry to elaborate on the subject. They feasted on a can of Spaghetti-Os, and Dean insisted they split the bag of chips regardless of the fact that Sam had eaten some earlier. Since Dad wasn’t there to stop them, they made a blanket-fort with the sheet, table, chairs, and comforter, and did their homework inside it, lying on their stomachs and waving their feet in the air. 

Around 10:00 Dean triple-checked the salt lines and the door locks. They brushed their teeth side by side, shoulders touching, and moved the sheet and comforter back onto the bed. Dean was dead-asleep by 11:00, drooling on the pillow and mumbling something about Lucy Lou.

Sam slid stealthily out from under the covers and tiptoed to his backpack where he’d stuffed the spell ingredients. He’d made sure to leave it un-zipped so the sound wouldn’t jostle Dean when he reached into it. After retrieving the materials, Sam set up a makeshift altar on the floor, just as Cunningham had described in his book. To his upper right he’d set a glass of water, to the lower right the matches, the lower left a bowl of salt, and the upper left a stick of incense that Lily slipped into his bag when she thought he wasn’t looking. Water, fire, earth, and air.

Sam placed the green candle and the little vial of anointing oil in the center, and shuffled into a cross-legged position while fumbling with his notebook. The first part of the spell required that the practitioner achieve a deep meditative state. Sam had never meditated before, nor had he ever even thought about it, but Cunningham had explained the overall gist of it in one of his chapters. Sam moved his legs into a cross-legged position, placed his palms atop his knees facing downward, and closed his eyes. He inhaled for four seconds, held the breath for four seconds, exhaled for four seconds, and held for four seconds. Cunningham had described this as four-square breathing. Within four rounds of the practice, Sam was surprised to find himself deeply relaxed and acutely focused. 

After sixteen rounds, Sam noticed his whole body tingling, and his head felt clearer than it had in weeks. He opened his eyes and reached for the candle and the oil, of which he spread a few drops on his fingers. Very clearly, he pictured in his mind Dean and himself purchasing food, fumbling in pockets for plentiful amounts of cash, and eating heaartily. Holding this mental image, Sam placed two oil coated fingers at opposite ends of the candle and slowly drew them closer together until they met at the middle, where he carved a pentacle with his fingernail. Hastily wiping his fingers on his pajama pants, Sam stuck the candle in the holder and reached for the matches. His hands shook slightly as the match took flame and he carefully lit the candle, blew out the match, and tossed it aside. His breath became a bit unsteady as he whispered the evocation scribbled in his notebook; edited appropriately as Cunningham suggested one do for a personal situation.

“I call upon you, Lakshmi, Lady of abundance and wealth, mistress of fortune, to aid me in this sacred rite. I seek financial security in this time of need, to provide sustenance, nourishment, and life to myself and my loved ones.”

I joined Sam in his sacred space and enveloped him in warmth and compassion.

_I am listening, my child._

.

Sam’s eyes fluttered shut as he abandoned the notebook. “Please Lakshmi, my brother—he’s so hungry. I’m so hungry. I swear I wouldn’t be calling on you if it wasn’t important. Please, please help us.”

_Do not worry, Sam Winchester. A mother never abandons her children._

.

Sam released a sigh he’d been holding deep in his belly, opened his eyes, and reached for his notebook once more. “I thank you, Lady of abundance. In perfect love, and perfect trust, merry ye meet and merry ye part again.” Sam picked up the candle and rose to set it on the table. The holder was fairly secure, so he felt confident it wouldn’t burn the motel down overnight. Over it, he whispered, “May this spell not reverse, nor place upon me any curse. So Mote it Be.”

When he slipped back under the covers next to his brother, he was soothed to sleep almost instantly by a soft glow at his core, spreading to cradle his body in softness and peace.

***

Instead of being woken up by his alarm clock the following morning, Sam was woken up by his brother shaking his shoulders and shouting in his ear. “Sam! Sam! Sammy!”

“Grmmph?”

“Wake up!”

“Ugh.”

“I found $100!”

Sam shot straight up, hair flying in his eyes. “What? Where?”

“I went outside to stretch my legs and there were two fifty-dollar bills lying in the gutter.”

“Dean. You have to give that to the front desk. Someone must have dropped it.”

“No way dude. We’re having a real breakfast, and we’re going grocery shopping.”

“But—”

“Hey, whoever dropped it must have enough not to miss it that much. Besides, I’m pretty sure we need it more.”

Grunting, Sam rolled over and pushed himself out of bed. “Yeah, probably.”

“Get dressed Sammy, we’re getting pancakes.”

“What about school?”

“It’s Saturday.”

“No it’s not.”

“Fine, it’s not. But we’re getting pancakes.”

Sam’s stomach was too angry for him to argue. He glanced over at the table while he pulled on jeans and a sweater. The candle had burned all the way out—it wasn’t even smoking. Dean must not have noticed the holder in the excitement of his recent discovery.

Sam sat on the bed to tie his shoes. “Dean. Um, I need to tell you something.”

Dean’s frown was audible. “What’s wrong?”

“The money, I—I think I made that happen.”

Sam raised his eyes to find Dean staring at him, looking incredibly confused. Sam elaborated. “Please don’t be mad, okay?” Sam’s voice sped up. “I was reading Cunningham’s book and I found a spell—”

“Sam. What did you do?”

“Nothing! Well, almost nothing! I lit a candle and um…prayed to an Indian goddess?”

“YOU SUMMONED A PAGAN GOD?”

“No! I just prayed to her. I told her we were hungry and needed help.”

“Dad always says that magick never comes without a price, Sam!”

“Dean, you heard me read the Wiccan Rede! I didn’t hurt anyone. And I read about Lakshmi. There’s no lore at all that says anything bad about her. She’s peaceful.”

Dean sat on the bed next to Sam, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You’re smart, Sam. I know you meant well, but Dad—”

“Bobby said Dad wouldn’t approve, yeah, I know.”

“Dad wouldn’t approve!”

“Dean, please. I did this for us. I need you to trust me. Look, if anything goes wrong, I’ll never do magick again, okay?”

Dean drew a heavy breath and stilled for a moment, before reaching over to pat Sam’s shoulder. “Okay. Now grab your bag. I’m hungry.”

***

Another week passed, and during it, Sam and Dean ate better than they had in months. After two days without any negative repercussions from the spell, and with Dean’s nervousness diminishing significantly, Sam remembered his promise to Lily.

“Hey,” Sam said, over breakfast, mouth full of Captain Crunch, “so um, the girl who gave me the spell ingredients…she asked if maybe we could help out at the store…in exchange?”

Dean froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Wait. She gave you the stuff for free?”

Sam looked down into his bowl. “Er, yeah.”

“Hell yeah, we’re helping her out. We shouldn’t be taking charity, Sam.”

“Dean. We needed it.”

Dean had no logical argument to that.

After meeting at the bus stop after school, Sam and Dean went straight to Enchanted Encounters. Lily was back by the bookshelves when they arrived, stocking merchandise.

“Whoa,” Dean exclaimed, mentally taking in entirety of the store and its treasures. “Cool.”

Lily glanced up from her work. “Hey Sam! Thanks for coming. Is this your brother?”

Dean had to forcefully keep his jaw from dropping at the beautiful girl standing before him. “Uh, hi,” Dean said, hastily raking his fingers through his short hair. “I’m Dean.”

“Lily,” she replied, reaching out to shake Dean’s hand. Sam was surprised that Lily seemed rather unfazed by Dean—despite that he was still young; Dean always had the tendency to make girls squirm and blush with nothing but a smile. Not this one, apparently.

Dean helped Lily stock and organize shelves while Sam ran the register. In the two and a half hours they were there, only three or four people came in, so the three of them spent most of the time talking about all things Wicca as they worked. Dean marveled at the designs of various tarot decks, and while sorting gemstones, he asked Sam and Lily to remind him of each one’s properties and magickal attributes. Sam was usually the bookworm out of the two of them, but by 5:00, Dean was neck deep in three different spellbooks and taking notes from a forth book about rituals.

They finished closing up shop and said goodbye to Lily around 5:15. “Dude,” Dean said to Sam on their walk back to the motel, “that was fun.”

That night, after Sam had finished his homework and Dean lied and said he’d finished his too, they gorged themselves on Twinkies while Sam read aloud from A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner. The more he listened, the more Dean felt a soul-deep connection to the religion that made him feel whole, almost giddy even—something he could never straight up admit to Sam. If Dad would just open his mind a little, maybe it’d make him a little less of a dick...

Sam and Dean worked at the story with Lily every afternoon until Dad called on a Wednesday around 2:00am and told Sam and Dean to be packed; he’d be there in two hours. There was no time to say goodbye to Lily or Jessica, but there never had been with any of the friends they’d made before anyway.

They had much more to pack than just clothes. Three boxes of Mac&Cheese, a whole crate of Ramen, two cans of Spaghetti-Os, five packets of beef jerky, four jars of peanut-butter, a family-sized box of Cheerios, and a small bag of spell supplies Lily had given them in exchange for helping her at the store. Sam stuffed it at the very bottom of his duffle-bag along with Cunningham’s book.

John didn’t seem to care about how his sons had acquired such a vast amount of food. He just shoved it all in the trunk with the arsenal and the duffle bags. Apparently they were headed back to Bobby’s. Sam wondered vaguely why he and Dean didn’t just live there permanently, but figured that Dad wouldn’t react positively to the question.  
When they arrived in Sioux-Falls at the ass-crack of dawn, a very groggy, wild-haired, pissed-off Bobby told the boys to head upstairs and go right back to sleep. He then proceeded to have a very loud and lengthy discussion with John about his parenting methods, as he did nearly every time John abandoned his sons with him.

Bobby: This ain’t good for them!

John: You say that like I have a choice!

Bobby: You do have a choice!

Sam and Dean usually tuned out the conversation by then.

John left for another hunt shortly afterward, obviously ignoring the entire gist of the conversation. 

In the guest room that was practically theirs at this point, Sam’s fingers were tightly woven into the collar of Dean’s t-shirt as he sniffled into his brother’s chest. Dean stroked Sam’s hair absently, already half-asleep. “It’ll be okay, Sammy. Dad always comes back.”

“Sure. ‘Night, Dean.”

Sam dreamt of me. I came to him in my most well-known form, a glowing woman with long black hair seated atop a lotus flower, draped in silk and jewels, and surrounded by white elephants.

_You are safe, Sam Winchester. I am with you always._

. One of my elephants playfully bopped Sam’s head with its trunk. Sam smiled in his sleep and nestled his face deeper into his brother’s chest—the only place where his one true god resided.


	3. Interlude: Initiation (Narrated by an Omnipresent Deity)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The initiation spell here comes from Silver RavenWolf’s "Teen Witch"
> 
> The ritual set-up that I wrote is very brief compared to a real initiation ceremony.

Tulsa, Oklahoma is nearly entirely flat. No hills, no lumps, no dents in the earth to give it character. When tornado season ends, the sky is cloudless and nearly blue at night underneath a full moon and a vast sea of stars. There is no wind to ruffle the fields, as though the gods are holding their breath in anticipation.

Sam and Dean filled their backpacks almost to the brims with supplies and left the motel room around 11:30, when the summer sky was finally dark and glowing. There was a farm about a mile and a half away from where they were staying. They were both quiet as they walked there, inhaling the night’s energy and mentally processing what they were about to do. They had now studied the Craft for a year and a day. It was time to solidify their faith before the God and Goddess.

There were a few empty fields, but Sam and Dean chose to perform the ritual in one with a few cows and horses grazing nearby. A palomino foal on wobbly legs meandered over to investigate as they set up the ritual materials, and watched as Sam set white candles in a large circle and began to light them in turn. Dean set a bowl of holy water in the west quarter of the circle, a large red candle in the south, an incense holder in the east, and a large crystal in the north. He then joined Sam at the circle’s center, where he was setting up an altar on a black velvet cloth with tiny figurines of Artemis and Thor, a bundle of sage, another lighter, and a bottle of anointing oil.

Sam rose from where he was kneeling on the ground, looked up at his brother, and cracked his knuckles. They didn’t have to say anything to know they were both ready.  
They had agreed beforehand that Sam would cast the circle and evoke Artemis, and Dean would call the quarters and evoke Thor. Sam clapped Dean gently on the shoulder as he took out a quartz crystal wand from his pocket and made his way to the white candles marking the edge of the circle. Starting in the north, he extended the wand with his left hand, and began to walk clockwise, visualizing a golden light creating a barrier separating their sacred space from the outside world.

Sam began reciting the incantation. “I conjure Thee, O Circle of Power, to be a boundary for me upon this hour…”

Dean watched, enraptured, as his baby brother walked the circle three times, never once pausing to recall the words to the incantation, wand arm utterly steady, posture tall. When Sam passed by the north quarter the third time, he knelt to the ground and patted the earth three times. “The Circle is sealed,” he announced.

Now it was Dean’s turn. He joined Sam at the north quarter and gently took the crystal wand from Sam’s outstretched hand. Starting at the top and moving to the lower left corner, Dean drew a pentacle in the air as he recited from memory “I call grounding spirits of the north…” He then moved clockwise to each quarter in turn and invoked the corresponding element, Sam beside him, drawing each pentacle as well using his left hand.

Now cocooned in their bubble of sacred space, the powers of the elements racing through them, the brothers returned to the altar and called the final element of spirit. Sam started first. “Artemis, Lady of the hunt, we ask you to join us in this sacred space and bare witness as we dedicate ourselves to the Craft and to deity as a whole.” In turn, Dean addressed Thor. “Thor, Lord of strength and ferocity, we ask you to join us in this sacred space and bare witness as we dedicate ourselves to the Craft and to deity as a whole.”

Sam and Dean then turned to face each other. Sam lit the sage from the makeshift altar and began to smudge Dean, tracing him in smoke from the top of his head, moving down to his face, arms, chest, back, and kneeling down to let the smoke flow along Dean’s legs, cleansing his brother of all impurities, letting all negativity leave the skin. When Sam deemed him cleansed, he handed Dean the sage and the lighter, silently asking for Dean to repeat the process on him.

Once their bodies had been purified in the sweet, tangy scent, Dean blew out the sage and placed it back on the altar, grabbing the anointing oil next. Realizing it was time, Sam extended his arms, leaned his head to the sky, and bared his body to the universe as he spoke the sacred words.

I, Sam Winchester, do solemnly swear by my lineage  
and all that I hold sacred and holy  
that I will honor and respect Deity  
and the brothers and sisters of the Craft of the Wise.  
I will work to serve Deity in every way  
and I will devote myself to the learning of all aspects of the Craft.  
I will not use my knowledge to cause harm,  
nor will I require any payment for my prayer or magick.  
Here and now, I dedicate myself to the Lord and Lady.  
I swear to work in harmony for myself and others.  
I will respect others and myself as I respect Deity.  
The Lord and Lady have now witnessed my oath.  
On this night, I claim my power.  
So Mote it Be.

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he was staring at Dean, mouth parted slightly, pupils blown. Wordlessly, Dean wetted his forefinger with oil, and with it, traced a pentacle upon his brother’s forehead.

The process was repeated for Dean. When it was over, their gazes were glued to each other, like deity walked the earth beneath each other’s skin. Sam’s eyes widened suddenly and he reached into his pocket for his butterfly knife. What he was about to do wasn’t required, nor even customary, but the urge that surged through him was a base instinct that he simply had to follow. Deliberately, he drew the knife across his palm, tracing the cut along the heart line.

When Sam raised his eyes to meet Dean’s, expecting to see shock and horror, all he saw was Dean’s hand outstretched. Sam placed the knife in Dean’s palm, blood pooling in his own, and Dean mimicked what Sam had done, not flinching or making a single sound of pain.

Dean dropped the knife onto the ground, allowing the blood to blend into the grass and earth, and then reached out for Sam. They clasped hands, merging their heart-lines together, mingling their blood, swearing that this dedication was to as much to each other as it was to the gods. Their connected arms tingled, a deep warmth spreading from their palms and up their arms into their bodies, settling down in their chests and curling there. The stood connected like that for longer than necessary, looking down at their joined hands and back up at each other like the whole universe had settled between them.

As they bid Spirit and the other quarters farewell and closed down the circle, Sam noticed the palomino watching them from across the field. He nodded at the little horse, and almost did a double take—with the full moon cascading shadows before his eyes, he could have sworn the foal nodded back.


	4. Defining Strength (Narrated by Thor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very first conversation between Sam and Dean chapter comes from this vine video here: https://vine.co/v/O6bYtzZW7vb.   
> The video is not mine and I take no credit for it.

_High school can suck my dick_.

, Dean thought as he shoved his way through the crowded hallway. After months of begging, Dad was finally on board to let Dean just get his GED and call it good, but he’d insisted for whatever dumb reason for Dean to stick it out for the next few weeks until the semester ended. Dean knew the real reason though. Watch out for Sammy. To be honest, Dean would suffer through high school for the rest of his life if it meant he could keep Sammy safe. That didn’t mean he couldn’t bitch about the high school experience though.

Dean ignored the posse of girls giggling and gaping at him on the steps, scanning the front of the school for his brother. Sam was seated under a tree, as far away from the building as one could possibly be without actually being off campus, reading. Dean meandered over to him.

“Hiya, Sammy.”

“Hey.”

Dean pulled a fresh pack of Marbs from his jacket pocket.

“That’s gonna give you lung cancer, Dean,” Sam said without raising his head from his book.

“Your mom’s gonna give you lung cancer.”

“We have the same mom and she’s dead Dean.”

“You just had to go there, didn’t you?”

“Well it’s the only logical place to go.”

“Bitch,” Dean muttered as he lit his cigarette and inhaled deeply.

“Jerk.”

Dean rolled his eyes on the exhale. “Watcha reading?”

“Raymond Buckland.”

“Ooo let me see!”

Sam bookmarked his page with a sticky note and handed the book over to his brother. Raymond Buckland’s Complete Book of Witchcraft. Dean held his cigarette between his lips. “This is Wicca, right? No weird evil mojo?”

“Are you gonna ask that for every book I pick up?”

“Hey, just making sure!”

“Dude. Buckland studied under one of the founders of Wicca. He’s as not-evil as not-evil gets.”

Dean leaned back against the tree and began flipping through the book. He paused when he came to a chapter on sex magick and chuckled, leaning down to show Sam the page. “Is this real?

Sam furrowed his brow. “Huh. I haven’t gotten to that chapter yet.”

“Dude. Apparently the most powerful spells come from this.” Dean snickered at his own pun while Sam gave him one of his classic bitch-faces. Dean ignored him. “You focus on your intention; let it build while, ya know…”

“Dean I know it’s exciting to find out that your favorite thing and your religion have something in common, but—”

Dean interrupted and continued. “And then you send your intention into the universe, or ‘release’ it…”

“Good luck finding someone who wants to do that with you. Don’t you have to anoint each other and do spell-prep before?”

“Ah Sammy, if only we weren’t related.”

Sam lowered his gaze so Dean wouldn’t notice how fucking read his cheeks had gotten, and hastily crossed his legs as well. For the past few months, Aphrodite had been gifting him with some rather taboo dreams lately, dreams that would inspire Pastor Jim to do a full-out exorcism on him. The first one occurred when Sam was thirteen, when he’d run off to live on his own for awhile. He’d dreamt of a wet, velveteen mouth on his cock, licking sweet stripes up the shaft and twirling around the head. He’d glanced down, expecting to find a beautiful girl between his legs, but instead was greeted with the sight of his brother, pupils so blown there was barely any green left in the irises, staring up at Sam with such intense arousal that Sam was forced into wakefulness. He’d waddled to the bathroom, dick hard and heavy between his thighs, and jerked off roughly to subside the emotions that were crawling through his veins.

Sam hadn’t had another dream like for a little over a year, but when the dreams started up again, they were vibrantly more vivid—Dean fucking him hard against a wall, lips sucking a heavy mark on his neck, murmuring love you love you love you lover and over against Sam’s skin…Dean cleaning his wounds after a hunt, pressing soft lips against each cut and bruise, stroking strong fingers against his cheekbones, eyes wide with concern and fear…Sam on his knees, tongue so deep in his brother’s ass he’d wake up with his mouth sore from the memory.

Sam didn’t fucking get it. He liked girls, he always had. He couldn’t recall ever thinking of another man in this way, especially not his older brother. Yet the dreams always lingered into his waking conscious, frustrating him with their intensity of the need and unwanted desires they provoked; and these subtle comments that Dean made every now and then did not help his situation. 

They were fourteen and eighteen now and they still shared a bed when Dad was out of town. Maybe they really should stop doing that, Sam thought frequently, but the notion of being curled up in on himself, alone and cold, with his brother snoring softly just a few feet away, no warmth and breath to share, made a knot form in Sam’s stomach that provoked a need to vomit.

They had practically zero concept of personal space compared to most siblings, hell, even compared to some of the couples Sam had seen throughout all the schools he’d been to. They would lean on each other all throughout those endless car rides. Walking to and from school, they’d stand shoulder to shoulder, bumping into each other with each step but never moving even an inch away. At diners, they’d sit in the back of the booths, sides glued together.

Sam wasn’t sure if their spirituality had brought them closer in this sense or if their preexisting closeness had brought them closer to their spirituality. In truth though, he really didn’t give a shit what the cause was. The religion was everything to Sam. It was a spark of joy in his mostly miserable life that he could delve into fully, that made him feel whole inside, like he had a purpose other than blindly following Dad and Dean from town to town and doing all their research for them. And sharing that magick, harnessing the pulsing energy that composed the whole universe with Dean, was more intimate than any sexual act could ever be.

Sam realized Dean was waiting for a response and hastily shook himself out of the ridiculous internal monologue he’d fallen into. “Well, we are related, you perv. There are other Wiccans in the world, you know. You don’t need to settle for your brother, who isn’t even a girl.”

“Hey at this point we both know I’m into more than just girls.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re always horny. Have you ever even been with a dude?”

Dean shrugged, taking another deep drag from his cigarette. “Who says I have to experience everything first hand to know what I like?”

It was Sam’s turn to shrug. “Whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

Dean flopped down against the tree next to his brother and slung an arm around Sam’s shoulder. “What about you, Sammy-boy? Have you ever even kissed anyone?”

Sam felt his ears burn. “None of your damn business.”

“Jesus Christ, we gotta get you laid.”

“I can get myself laid, thanks.”

“I’d believe you if you’d ever showed any interest in sex in your life, ever.”

“Just because I don’t talk about it doesn’t mean I don’t think about it,” Sam snapped. This conversation was starting to piss him off.

Dean must have seen the hell-fire in Sam’s eyes because he didn’t say anything else, just stubbed out his cigarette in the grass and scratched lightly at the growing scruff on his cheek. Sam sighed inwardly and picked up the Buckland book Dean had set beside him on the grass. He flipped back to the page he’d left off on while Dean lit another cigarette.

“Dude, how many of those do you smoke a day?”

“Five or six, give or take.”

“Ya know just because you can smoke legally now doesn’t mean you need to triple the amount you smoked before.”

Dean ignored him, leaning his head back against the tree and letting his eyes fall shut. Sam pressed on. “You smell like an ash-tray these days.”

“You smelling me, Sammy?”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

“You love me.”

“Maybe I just love your body.” Sam nearly choked when he realized what he’d just said. His ears turned to fire and he froze, telling himself that if he remained absolutely still and silent Dean wouldn’t nnotice he’d said anything at all. 

Sam’s stomach practically shot through the top of his skull when Dean ended up ruffling his hair and chuckling. “Whatever, smartass. Let’s get out of here.”

***

I was initially surprised when it was Dean who prayed to me that night rather than Sam. Dean rarely ever prayed. He preferred to focus on spellcraft and ritual, maintaining a strained distance between himself and pure deity, because Dean Winchester was a macho, rock-hard man who crushed his feelings and personal needs under his boots and sucked it the fuck up, just like his Daddy. Dean must be desperate at this moment to directly consult a higher power rather than simply attempting to take matters into his own hands. Yet if Dean ever were to decide to pray, it was only logical that it would be to me. I am a god of thunder and lightning, of strength both internal and external, of power and determination—of warriors.

Dean indeed appeared desperate. His jaw was clenched as his fists twitched as he sat before his makeshift altar, his eyes glued to the floor. Unlike Sam, who whispered his prayers, Dean sent them through ideas, images, fantasies, and memories. That night, Dean began with memories first, as a form of prep for his prayer and a means of sorting through his thoughts.

Sam was four and had vivid, horrid nightmares. He’d wake up screaming and Dean would pull his brother into his chest, stroke the back of his hair and make sweet shhhing noises while Sam would suck on Dean’s thumb and drift back to sleep.

Sam was six and he’d follow Dean everywhere; he’d stopped asking when Dad would be home months ago, and now just asked Dean about Dean—what was Dean’s favorite color, what was Dean’s favorite superhero, “how was school, Dean, was it fun,” why didn’t he have freckles he wanted freckles so he could match with his big brother, did Dean love him? He knew Dad didn’t, not really, but did Dean?

 _Sam was eight when he gave Dean the amulet that was meant for Dad, and Sam’s expression when he handed it to Dean instead and said “I want you to have it” was the exact moment that Dean fell in love with Sam, the moment he knew there was no one else in the whole universe he’d love more than his dimpled, shaggy haired, genius little brother_.

 _Sam was nine when his eyes glowed so wide and bright in the full moon light as he read to Dean from the book that brought them so close together, the book that gave them a purpose, that enriched their lives so much more than anything else ever could. Then when Sam was ten and his jaw was set so sternly as he cast their sacred circle with a crystal wand in an open cornfield, when Sam held out his hand for Dean to take as together they called the quarters, evoked the God and Goddess, drew runes across each other’s arms and pentacles on each other’s foreheads in purified oil, when instead of looking up at the moon when they dedicated themselves to the Craft they looked at each other—both knowing but never saying out loud that the real dedication they were making was to each other_.

 _When Sam was thirteen and ran away for a few months and Dean did spell after spell trying to find him to no avail, how he was ready to take his own life in a heartbeat if he learned Sam was dead, how he was only staying alive at this point in shallow hope of finding him, and how when he did Sam seemed utterly fucking fine, had even replaced him with a golden retriever, how they barely spoke for weeks after that and to be perfectly honest how they were never really the same since. When Sam was thirteen and Dean woke up in the middle of the night to hear Sam masturbating in the bathroom, breath hitching, and whimpering slightly, and how Dean swore he must have misheard or imagined or dreamt it when Sam moaned “Dean” deeply, how Dean pretended to be asleep until Sam went back to bed so he could jack off too and replay his name spoken on his baby brother’s lips over and over in his head as he fiercely stripped his cock_.

 _That very afternoon when Sam had said that sentence, “Maybe I just love you for your body,” how it’d gotten Dean rock-hard instantly, how Sam’s bright-red ears utterly gave him away, how much Dean ached to pull his brother into him and crush their lips together_.

 _See? Dean asked me. His eyes were squeezed shut and his chin trembled_.

 _I see, my son_.

Dean’s thoughts quivered and alternated until he found the question he was searching for; What am I supposed to do?

He had sought out me instead of Aphrodite or Eros for a reason. He didn’t seek a pansy-ass answer. He needed a real-world, manly as fuck, Dean Winchester applicable, plausible action-permitting response. 

I gave him what he asked for. I filled him with strength and courage, and transformed his helplessness into angst—an emotion Dean Winchester almost knew what the fuck to do with. When he crawled back into bed next to his brother, Dean didn’t hesitate to pull Sam close to him and tuck his head into his brother’s shoulder. In turn, Sam tucked his fingers into the collar of Dean’s t-shirt, and didn’t make any other movements.

They slept like that--legs tangled, arms clutching, legs grasping, hands tucked into the crooks of necks—every night John was gone (which was frequently) for the next four years, never again with any reservations or paranoia that what they were doing was weird, wrong, or abnormal. In fact, compared to their daily lives, being this close was the one true shred of normalcy they had. Even if the other (or both) came back to the motel reeking of sex, cigarettes, and/or booze, or if they’d done nothing but argue and nearly throw punches throughout the day, they’d return to that position at night, because as the saying goes, home is where the heart is, and this, for them, was home.


	5. This Isn't Beauty (Narrated by Aphrodite)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Graphic descriptions of eating disorder thoughts and malnourished bodies

Although John had taken Dean on his first hunt at age fourteen, he refused to let Sam accompany them until he was sixteen. For a few years, Sam was pissed about it, believing it to be because Dad didn’t trust him or thought him weak. When Sam realized that it was because (although he’d never admit it out loud) Dad valued Sam’s life above Dean’s, he was positively outraged. He said nothing though, just promised to himself that if it came down to saving Dad or Dean, he would pick Dean without an instant of hesitation.

This particular hunt, a few months after Sam’s sixteenth birthday, was a Cortella: a specific type of demon that, instead of being sent to hell, remained on Earth for centuries after death trying to achieve a goal it wasn’t able to in life. At first it seemed more like a ghost to Sam than a demon, but by far the most twisted, fucked-up ghost Sam could ever have conceived of.

Alive, she’d been called Abigail. Library and ancient medical finals had diagnosed her as one of the very first cases of anorexia American history had recorded. Apparently, although Abigail had died from starvation, she still believed herself to be too heavy, and as soon as she realized she could, she began haunting and possessing other people to live through them vicariously, forcefully encouraging them to starve themselves until she deemed them thin enough (which was never). John suspected her death toll to be in the high hundreds.

There were no bones to burn, and because Abigail’s attachment to the earth plane was through her victims, the only non-violent way to (as Dean had started to call it) “gank her” was to reason to what little speck of humanity that she might have left and persuade her to move on. Enter puppy-eyed Sammy for the task.

Dean and John were outside the door, pistols filled with salt rounds hidden in the back of their jeans. John and Abigail were completely unaware of the plan Sam and Dean had formed. It wasn’t just Sam who confronted that creature. Sam had invoked me into his body before this hunt. I had remained hidden in the recesses of his mind until he entered the room, only then surfacing to speak through Sam and reveal my true form.

They had to sneak into the hospital where Abigail’s current conquest was in the psychiatric ward with an IV and a feeding tube. When Sam, Dean, and John arrived—telling the nurses that they were cousins of the victim—Sam entered the room alone to find Abigail was seated comfortably in the half-dead stick-thin girl’s body, arms crossed across her chest, eyes black as a regular demon’s. 

Before I could speak, Sam’s limbs clenched and he stood frozen before the bed, staring at the body for a moment, mind whirring. The girl was so pale that her long, wavy red hair resembled a large bloodstain flowing down her arms and shoulders. Mentally, Sam added thirty pounds of muscle and flesh to the girl before him, and nearly ejected me with the force of his panicked realization.

 _Lily. Lily! Oh my god, Lily_.

. Vaguely, Sam recalled what she’d said to him as she’d handed him those chips and the apple. I know what it’s like to be hungry. 

To hold Sam’s panic in check and to keep it a secret from Abigail that Sam knew her current vessel, I began speaking. “Hello, Abigail. My name is Aphrodite.”

Abigail snorted through Lily’s nose, warping her expression into something the girl’s face would never have formed on its own. “You are clearly a gangly teenage boy still struggling on occasion to hide unexpected erections. Don’t bullshit me.”

I made Sam’s eyes glow bright gold, and through his form showed her a glimpse of mine—waist length thick curls, plush violet lips, and lush brown skin covering a body sculpted from curving flesh and muscle. At the sight, Abigail leapt from Lily’s body to stand before me on the astral plane. Lily, it turned out, was unconscious, only animated by Abigail’s presence. Abigail’s own form was pasty, frail, and bony, all angles and wobbling stature.

I stepped towards her. “This isn’t beauty, Abigail. You must know that.”

Abigail’s glance landed on her most recent victim. “I know. She’s disgusting. Still fat.”

“Not her. You. You want to be beautiful, but this is not the way. This is a breach of free will. It’s ugly.”

“You don’t—”

“I’m a Goddess, Abigail. I don’t tend to lie.”

“You can’t make me stop.”

I turned inward to Sam.

 _She can’t be reasoned with. She is too far gone_.

 _No! We can’t just—_.

 _It is alright. I have my own plan. This demon’s attachment is only to her victims. If the victim rejects her, she will be too weakened to latch onto another, and can be exorcised like any other demon_.

I turned outward again before Sam could respond. “You’re right, Abigail. I can’t stop you. But she can.”

I stepped to the bedside and placed Sam’s hand on Lily’s forehead. “Wake, my sweet daughter.”

Blearily, Lily’s eyes fluttered open. It took a few moments for her gaze to register the figure before her. “S-Sam..? Sam Winchester?”.

I granted Sam the use of his limbs and speech. Sam grasped her cold hand in his. “Lily. You have to listen to me, okay?”.

Abigail swiftly appeared at her opposite side, obsidian eyes seeming to draw in all the light from the room. “He can’t help you, slut. Only I can help you.”.

“Lily!” Sam shook the hand he was holding. “Don’t listen to her. Listen to me. You’ve got to do what I say.”

“Sam.” Lily’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Lily, please—”

I cut Sam off and allowed Lily to briefly glimpse my true form beneath his skin before taking control of his words once more. “She’s lying, my child. This is not beauty. This is death.”.”

“I know she’s wrong,” Lily mumbled. “But I can’t fight forever.”

 _“You won’t have to.”_.

Sam did not witness the rest of our conversation. Discussions with deity of this magnitude simply need to be kept private. I roused Sam the moment once the bond between vessel and demon was cracked, and he recited the appropriate exorcism from memory, sending Abigail to a place where she would pay her dues. The Winchesters didn’t leave until they were positive there was not a trace of the demon left.

Before Lily drifted into a sleep much deeper than she’d experienced in months, she asked me for a favor. “Tell Sam thank you for me, Mother.” I told her, as she fell into unconsciousness,

 _I promise you that one day you can tell him yourself_.

I comforted Sam within his head during the car ride back to the motel. John planned to stay one more night to ensure completely that Abigail was 100% gone. Sam and Dean stepped out for “a soda” once they all put their weapons away. Sam lay on his back in an empty alley-way while Dean knelt next to him, reciting the meditative exercise that would allow Sam to devoke me. Outside of Sam’s body, I watched him sit up slowly and bury his face into his brother’s neck. He sobbed quietly while Dean rubbed small circles into his back.

“You did good, Sammy.”

“It was Lily, Dean. Lily! She should never have had to…”

“Sam, you saved her.”

Sam only sobbed louder.

“Hey. Look at me.” Dean cupped his brother’s cheek and raised his eyes to meet his own. “You did awesome. You held a godform for three hours. You made sure that bitch will never fuck with anyone else again.”

Sam hiccupped, and Dean pressed his lips gently to his brother’s forehead. Sam shied his head away and Dean coughed hastily, turning away as well and scratching the scruff below his chin. They helped each other up and began to walk back to the motel, limbs clunking together every few steps.

“What was it like?” Dean asked once they were outside their door. “Holding Aphrodite?”

Sam thought for a minute. “It was like…it was like the only thing I could feel at all was love. For everything. And everything was beautiful.” He chuckled, ducking his eyes under his floppy hair, his dimples showing. “Like the best drug in the world combined with ecstasy and orgasms.” He ended the sentence there, but I heard the last part nonetheless. Like how I feel with you sometimes. 

“Dude. Next time, I’m invoking, and you’ll be Dad’s wingman.”

“Do you think maybe the gods are gonna start getting tired of us bothering them all the time?”

“I don’t know about you, but they’ll never get tired of me, that’s for damn sure. I’m a delight.”

“No I’m pretty sure almost everyone thinks you’re an asshole.”

“If I’m an asshole then you’re a slut.”

“Jerk!”

“Bitch.”

John took the couch that night so his sons could each have their own bed instead of clinging to each other like they do during the day. Sam and Dean compensated by sleeping on the very ends of their beds, one arm hanging off the side, haphazardly trying to reach for each other in sleep.


	6. Winchesters Don't Do Long Distance (Narrated by Artemis)

“Jesus, Dad. It’s just an application.”

“You’re not going to college, Sam. I don’t want to hear anymore about this.”

“What, I’m just supposed to be your wing-man for the rest of my life? I can’t at least get a higher education?”

“You mind your tone with me son.”

“You’re not making any fucking sense!”

“Language!”

Sam noticed watery pinpricks stinging at his eyelids. “Most parents would want their kids to go to school.” His voice squeaked and a rush of shame washed over him. He sounded like an eight year old.

“I’m not ‘most parents,’ Sam! We have no money to send you anywhere, and we need you here!”

“You didn’t need my help for sixteen years! How is now suddenly different?”

Fists were close to flying when Dean opened the door, holding three McDonalds bags. He froze when Sam and Dad both turned to him, cheeks ruddy, and eyes bloodshot and a little wet. No one said anything as Dean set the bags on the table.

“So um, I got food?”

“Go ahead and start, son. Sam and I were just—” John cleared his throat as an end to that sentence. He mumbled something about checking the tire pressure and left the room, roughly slamming the door behind him.

Dean raised his eyes to Sam. “Dude. Spill.”

“He said I’m not allowed to go to college.”

“You…you want to go to college?”

“Yeah Dean, what’s so wrong about that?”

“It’s just…we need you here.” It was largely apparent to both of them though that Dean didn’t mean “we” at all.

“It’s not like you’ll never see me again.”

“Sam, why is college even necessary? You don’t exactly need it in our line of work.”

Sam’s lungs tightened as he voiced the words he’d wanted to say for years, but just couldn’t, not even to Dean. “What if I don’t want to follow this line of work?” Sam remembered word for word the advice that English teacher—the first and only person who ever told him he didn’t have to go into the “family business”--had given him four years ago. There may be three or four big choices that shape someone’s whole life, and you need to be the one that makes them. Not anyone else.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and drew his fingers through his hair as he sat down on the edge of one of the beds. “If—if you did do something else, Sam…what would it be?”  
Sam sunk down next to his brother and stared down his hands. “I don’t know. That’s why I want to go to college. To find out.”

Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed it in his own. This moment was too emotional for either of them to notice if it was a weird gesture. “If this is something you need to do, Sam, I’ll…” Dean had planned to say, “I’ll understand,” but that’s not what came out. “I’ll go with you.”

Sam chuckled humorously. “Dean, no offence, but the chances of any university letting you in with barely passing grades and a GED isn’t very likely.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean, I’ll get a job in whatever town you’re in. We can share a shitty apartment…and…” Tears began to flow steadily across Dean’s cheeks. Dean never made any noise when he cried. It was all silent and stiff, which made it extraordinarily worse than if he’d been a blubbering crybaby.

Sam grabbed Dean’s other hand as well and held both of them to his chest. “Dean. I wouldn’t be leaving you.” When Dean continued to cry, Sam’s words sped up. “Hey, applications aren’t due for a few months, okay? Hell, I probably won’t even get in anywhere—moving around forever isn’t going to look great on my records anyway. I’m just—I’m just fucking around, seeing where different paths might lead, Dean, please I…we don’t even need to worry about this right now. Dean…” Sam began pushing Dean’s hair back from his forehead, but since Dean’s hair was so short, Sam just ended up stroking his brother’s face. Sam’s thumbs caught the tears gently and soon he was making shhhing noises and pulling Dean’s head against his chest so he could stroke his hair for real. Sam was considering pressing a kiss to the crown of his brother’s head when John walked in, took one look at his sons tangled together like two tearful octopuses, and bee-lined straight for the bathroom.

Dean raised his head slightly and sniffled. “I think Dad’s allergic to feelings.”

“Hey,” Sam remembered “burgers, right?”

“Right, burgers. And your pansy-ass salad.”

“Dude, have you ever eaten a vegetable in your life?”

“Burgers have vegetables.”

“You always pick them off.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure ketchup is a vegetable.” Dean ruffled through the bags, locating the corresponding meals he’d order for each of them. He wrinkled his nose at the contents of one and handed it to Sam. “Fucking rabbit food, man.”

“I don’t understand how you can eat nothing but hamburgers and pie and still have a porn-star body.”

“You been imagining me doing porn, Sammy?”

Sam’s ears turned tomato red, but he managed to hide his verbal error. “I just know inflating your ego in ways that involve sex makes you feel better.” Sam shot Dean a mix between a smirk and a bitch face.

They ate in silence when John came out of the shower. His mood always drastically improved when he started eating. Must be where Dean gets it from, Sam thought.

That night, once John had fallen asleep on one of the beds after two-thirds of a fifth of whisky, Sam and Dean decided to take the other bed. They both tried to wait until the other fell asleep so they could pray in privacy, and hence neither of them fell slept for over an hour. Finally realizing they must have the same plan, Sam decided to let Dean go first, and was unconscious seconds after making that decision. He dreamt of paperwork, bills he couldn’t pay, a screaming father and a sobbing brother.

Dean tried to reach for Thor in his prayers, he really did—but I came to him instead.

 _“If you want someone to tell you to ‘man-up,’ your prayers will go unheeded tonight, Dean Winchester.”_.

Dean’s mind was a cloud of grey and blue pressure, soul-deep fear radiating from him in pulsing clenches and bursts. Ideas of various spells to keep Sam with him flitted through his mind, most of which violated free-will or involved controversial, unwholesome methods. 

_“Remember Dean, true Wiccans harm none.”_.

The remainder of Dean’s prayer was a slew of need Sammy need my Sammy don’t take away my brother please need him. I allowed him to see as much reason as I could muster—providing scenarios of Sam visiting for winter and summer breaks, Dean coming to see him at school now and then, but mainly of Sam being happy, in his natural intellectual habitat. There was of course nothing more in the universe that Dean desired than Sam’s happiness.

Sam awoke in the middle of the night after Dean had fallen asleep, and prayed to me directly. “I want Dean to know that I wouldn’t be leaving him—I’d never leave him. And I know we can’t afford tuition, but there are scholarships, and if I did get in, maybe Dean could live with me, but…he’d never leave Dad, would he?”

I enveloped Sam in a blanket of affection and filled him with the notion that all would be well. The brothers ended up sleeping on opposite ends of the bed that night, with only the fingertips of their right and left hands touching.

***  
While Dad and Dean stood arguing over a map and red pens at the kitchen table, Bobby pulled Sam aside into the study. “You’ve got mail, Sam.”

Bobby handed Sam the large, thick envelope silently. STANFORD was plastered across the return address. “Sam I…don’t you think I ain’t proud of you but…does your Daddy know about this?”

Sam stared at his shoes. “Not yet.”

“Your brother?”

“No.” Sam’s voice was soft, and his eyes glistened when he raised them to meet Bobby’s gaze.

Bobby patted Sam’s shoulder roughly. “Why dontcha open it?” Bobby began to slowly make his way back to the kitchen.

“Hey, Bobby? Would you um…do you want to see what it says?”

“Sure, kid. Let’s take a look.”

The packet was full of papers, the top-most one being an acceptance letter, stating not only that Sam had been admitted to Stanford, but that he had been awarded a full scholarship—housing, dining, and books included. The rest of the packet contained information about the school, housing options, and a booklet of classes to choose from.   
Sam and Bobby stared at each other in silence. Bobby broke it after a few moments with a cough. “Look, Sam, if ya want, I can talk to yer Daddy…”

“That’s okay. I mean, thanks Bobby, really, but I need to do this myself.”

“Alright, son. Just, you know. Wait until he’s in a decent mood.”

Sam agreed, but the idea was much easier said than done, since lately John was almost never in a decent mood. He’d been snapping at all of them lately, sometimes yelling, when they hadn’t found anything after hours of research, or even just breathed in his direction with an “attitude”. John claimed to be getting closer to finding the demon that killed Mom, but Sam, Dean, and Bobby all knew that one tiny lead about some demon that might have had yellow eyes, seen by some drugged-up hippy trying to sell his soul to cure his herpes, had quickly gone cold and had turned into him grasping at straws for weeks, and increasingly angrier with every failure.

By the beginning of July, Sam had to tell him, since classes started about a week into August. For whatever reason, Sam had yet to tell Dean either. He wanted to, desperately, but every time he looked at his brother, a knot formed in his throat and he was rendered speechless. At first Sam assumed this was due to his fear of Dean’s reaction to college, but when Sam really thought about it, he realized that he’d been feeling a sort of dizzying nervousness for a few months now every time he was alone with his brother. Dean’s eyes were just so fucking green, and that stupid-ass smirk and sassy swagger that just screamed Dean made Sam’s insides coil and tighten. The dreams he’d had when he was fourteen had returned, a thousand times more vivid, and every time Sam looked at his brother all he could think about was pinning Dean down on the nearest table, cupping his face, and fucking him fast and deep.

Dean went on most hunts with Dad these days while Sam finished up school, so he usually slept alone—which was actually a relief for once, because when he and Dean did share a bed, he ended up sporting a raging erection from the moment Dean laid down beside him until shortly after Sam got out of the shower the next morning. Brothers shouldn’t feel this way about each other, he knew all too fucking well. He’d prayed frantically to Aphrodite every night, but all he received from her was the usual sensation of unconditional love and adoration, and absolutely nothing that said she disapproved of whatever this was that bordered on incest. Sam wanted more than life to believe that what he was experiencing wasn’t sinful, but how could it fucking not be? The Goddess is supposed to love all her children despite their many many many many faults, so there was no actual proof from Aphrodite she was cool with incest.

Sam frequently found himself wondering if Dean felt the same for him, but his sense of guilt and building self-hatred for going behind his family’s back about college just made him feel more and more like a perverted freak. That thought process, Sam knew, made Aphrodite sad, which ironically only made him hate himself more.

He couldn’t wait around any longer though. He contemplated his options; he could invoke and have a godform say what needed to be said, he could do a spell to alter his emotions and make himself less wounded by their reactions, he could get outrageously drunk, he could set aside his pride and ask for Bobby’s help, or he could just run off a week before classes started and avoid the confrontation entirely. Although the last option sounded most appealing, he settled for the second, and procrastinated until mid-July when there was supposed to be a full moon—a day he always felt closest to deity.

Sam had school that day, so he packed some spell ingredients in his backpack and snuck into a unisex bathroom after final period. The bathroom was far too small for him to eve bother trying to cast a circle, so he just drew out his crystal wand and a book of runes, stuck a stick of incense upright in the sink and lit it, then sat cross legged on the floor and began to draw himself into meditation. He started with four-square breathing, just as he had with the very first spell he’d done, and on each inhale focused on drawing in courage and strength, and with each exhale released anxiety and paranoia. 

When he felt centered and grounded, Sam flipped through the book to locate the appropriate runes. He chose Uruz for strength, Dagaz for the concept of a breakthrough, Berkana for personal growth, and Mannaz for focus on the self—all runes he figured would provide him with the motivation to say what needed to be said and allow him to accept whatever the consequences were. Using the tip of his crystal wand, Sam drew the runes on his forearm, focusing intently on their meaning as he gently scraped against the skin.  
If anyone tried to get Sam’s attention as he left the building, he didn’t notice. He was mission-bound at this point. Energy seemed to be vibrating under his skin, and his ears rung faintly all along his walk back to the motel. Dad was cleaning his guns and Dean was aimlessly flipping through the few free TV channels back at the motel, each sitting on the end of one of the two beds. Sam grunted a hello as he set his backpack on the table and locked himself in the bathroom to aggressively rinse his face with hot water. Both Dad and Dean were staring at the bathroom door expectantly when he came out.

“You okay, Sammy?”

“Dean.” Sam swallowed and shoved his fists into his pockets. “There’s something…something I need to tell you.”

“Dad and I both already know you’re gay if that’s what this is about.” Dean desperately attempted to be teasing to dissolve the tension.

“What? No. I um…I…”

“Spit it out, son. You’re giving me cancer over here.”

“Dad.” Sam bit his lips hard to keep the tears locked behind his eyelids.

“Sammy?” Dean rose from the bed and approached his brother, taking note of his subtle shaking and the light scraps on his arm that only crystal could leave on skin. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

“I um…I got accepted to Stanford. Full scholarship. I’m supposed to start in two weeks.”

There was a solid thirty seconds of silence in which Sam shifted his weight from foot to foot, Dean flopped back down on the bed, and Dad gently set his gun aside, folding his hands on his laps.

“You what?”

“I get to go to college. To Stanford. For free.”

“Sam.” Dean’s posture slackened and his face fell more somber than Sam had seen from his brother in years—no snarky sarcastic smirk hiding underneath, just a poisonous devastation expanding and overtaking his features.

“We talked about this before, Sam. If you want to be part of this family, then you be part of this family.”

“How is going to school not being a part of this family?”

“You know what the fuck I mean!” John rose from the bed like a tidal wave. Although Sam was now about an inch taller than his father, John somehow still managed to tower over his son in his anger. “You going off to college means you can’t be here when we need you! Family doesn’t leave!”

“I’m not leaving!” Sam roared back. “You talk like I’ll be disappearing off the face of the Earth! I’ll have a phone! I’ll have breaks every few months! I can write!”

“That’s not enough Sam and you know it. We don’t need you just when it’s convenient for you.”

“Jesus, is this really the life you wanted for me?”

Dean had begun sobbing silently into his hands, but Sam and John ignored him. “You know damn well this isn’t the life I wanted for you! But it’s the life we have!”

“But I can change that!”

“You’d we walking out on us, Sam! Is that what you want?”

The spell had made it easier for Sam to focus on the reasons why this was so important to him, and to prevent the emotions his dad would stir in him from causing him to go back on what he wanted. Yet Sam still choked up when he forced himself to reply, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Wordlessly, John began to stuff what little of Sam’s possessions were laying around the room into a duffle bag. Dean continued to sob into his hands when John finally thrust the bag at Sam. “If you’re gonna leave your family, do it now, and don’t you look back. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I mean it Sam. You walk out that door, don’t you ever come back.”

Sam nodded silently. He tried to make his way over to Dean, but John put a hand on his chest. “No. Your brother’s dealt with enough of your shit.”

Sam continued to nod as he grabbed his backpack from the table. He swung it over one shoulder and the duffle bag around the other. He didn’t say goodbye when he opened the door. He looked up and managed to meet Dean’s eyes behind his father’s head. Dean’s face was covered in salt water and snot, his eyes bloodshot and his nose tomato red. They didn’t exchange any words as Sam shut the door behind him.

The effects of the spell still coursed through his veins as he walked a full five miles to the nearest bus station. Sam—thankfully—had saved up enough transportation money in the weeks previous in anticipation for this very event, and managed to buy a series of bus tickets that would get him to Palo Alto within a few days. That would give him just enough time to buy his books and register for classes.

Sam refused to think about his brother, instead focusing solely on the tasks he needed to accomplish to get him from point A to point B. Even when he finally fell asleep on his first bus, Sam didn’t dream of Dean—he dreamt only of Aphrodite; with eyes dessert red and a face drowning in tears.


	7. Trickery (Narrated by Loki)

“Sam?”

Sam whipped around in the dining hall line, not really knowing who he to expect to see. After two weeks of classes, he still highly doubted anyone here knew his name yet—he’d rarely ever spoken to anyone other than his roommate (when absolutely necessary), and stayed relatively quiet in classes. It took him a few seconds of studying the girl’s face before he was finally able to place her.

“Jessica?” Sam broke into a shy smile.

“Yeah, from Ms. Mainer’s class! What was that, eight, nine years ago?”

“Shit, it was, wasn’t it?” For the first time in over a month, Sam found himself chuckling. “You still like ponies?”

“I think I lost interest in ponies once I discovered boys.”

Sam almost said me too but managed to catch himself before that lead into a slew of awkwardness. “I’m guessing the latter is more fun to ride?”

Jessica burst into laughter. “Depends on your personal preference I suppose. So Sam, what brought you to Stanford?”

“It was the only place that gave me a full scholarship, and I couldn’t afford to go anywhere else.”

“Hold up: They gave you a full scholarship?”

“Yeah, I—”

“Sam, that’s incredible! They almost never give those out.”

Sam blushed profusely. “Really?”

“They must have really liked what they saw in you.” Jessica’s voice had gone soft, and Sam realized she was blushing as well.

“Hey, um,” Sam dragged his fingers through his hair, thinking fast. “Do you want to study later today?”

***

Dad had been a rather unpleasant person for the majority of his life, but without Sam there to question his authority at every turn, that unpleasantness only seemed to escalate for Dean. The night that Sam left, John had driven off in a huff and didn’t return until the following morning, reeking of booze and a scent that may or may not have been heroin. 

Dean had expected his father to be furious or even depressed, and was surprised to find that the moment Dad returned, he immediately began acting as though absolutely nothing had happened—as though Sam only away briefly for some totally explanatory reason, or as though he never even existed. Dean had tried to bring Sam up a total of one-half times, but barely got the word “Sa” out of his mouth before being given a glare that clearly stated Sam was not an open topic of discussion for the foreseeable future. Dean realized he preferred it like that anyway. Bringing up Sam to himself, in his head, was painful enough. He couldn’t stomach the idea of Dad being involved in the conversation.

Dean remembered the first time Sam had ever mentioned college, and how Dean had said he’d go with him. Dean thought about that frequently—just ditching Dad and worming himself right back into his brother’s life. But even if Dad wouldn’t write him off as a son like he’d done Sam, Sam didn’t want his brother there. He hadn’t called or written once (like he said he would), and when Dad kicked him out that night, he hadn’t even tried to fight to say goodbye to Dean, even though he fought Dad on almost everything else all the time. If Sam wanted Dean in his life, he’d fucking let him know. In the mean time, Dean would do what he did best: kill evil sons of bitches.

Ironically for Dean, this week’s evil son of a bitch was a pagan god. Dean had come to understand a difference between Wiccan godforms and the pagan gods he hunted, which mainly involved two key points. Godforms existed on the spiritual plane rather than the physical, and encompassed specific concepts and traits that were a key part of universal energy, where as “pagan gods” were physical beings that thrived on human sacrifice. This week’s douchebag was Loki, the Norse trickster god. Dad had assumed him to be a regular trickster at first, but a phone call to Bobby had made it clear that the death-toll was far too high. Tricksters preferred just to fuck with people. Loki liked to play with his food before he ate it.

To gank the ass-hat, any weapon that would be fatal to humans would do, as long as you “tricked the trickster” before delivering the blow—which was much easier said than done. Dean had to violently resist the urge to call Stanford and ask for the number to Sam Winchester’s dorm (Sam had left his cell-phone, knowing damn well Dad wouldn’t keep him on the family plan anymore). Sam would of course have the solution in a heartbeat. Instead however, Dean meditated, and asked the real Loki—the universal energy of trickery that existed on the spiritual plane, for assistance.

Within immediate contact of Loki-Loki, Dean decided this was his new favorite godform, hands down. The dude was the epitome of low-brow humor. After appropriately acquainting himself with the godform, he explained the situation.

 _So, physical not-me is eating people? Peachy. Alright, Dean-o, here’s whatcha gotta do. You gotta find out what brought him to this town in particular, what attracted him to these people, and use that against him, alright?_.

Dean didn’t quite understand what that entailed, but he was nervous about accidently angering a godform, regardless of how casual he might initially sound.

The deity sensed Dean’s doubt though, and elaborated, swapping into a serious tone flawlessly.

 _Just think what your brother would do. Then Dean was out of his meditative state, sitting on the dusty motel room floor, feeling confused and mildly pissed off_.

Dean did what Loki-Loki had said though, and did all the research that Sam would have done. He holed himself up in the library at a computer, surrounded by books and manuscripts about Norse legends of Loki, and compared the files he managed to illegally obtain from the coroner to Loki’s common tactics. Finally, Dean began to isolate a pattern in the attacks. Loki was targeting the overweight—more meat, Dean figured—by taking the form of various people that both had emotional power over them or simply made enough of an impression (i.e. potential lovers, children on the street, waiters, grocery clerks, etc) and verbally insulting his targets until their self-esteem dropped so low that they committed suicide. Loki would then feast on their remains.

 _What a fucked up little shit, Dean thought. People have plenty of reasons to hate themselves already without this asshole telling them their bodies suck_.

. With a sharp pang to the chest, Dean remembered Lily, lying immobile and half-dead on a hospital bed with tubes running through her veins, so terrified of the weight on her body that the demon was able to rip her apart from the inside out. Suddenly, this case was a thousand times more important to Dean than before.

Dean told Dad about the bastard’s MO and they began to brainstorm a plan to find a way to make the god hate one of his own traits; once again, much easier said than done. What the hell does a pagan god hate about itself?

Suddenly, it hit Dean like an anvil to the face. That it’s not as powerful as an actual godform. That it has to weaken others emotionally so it can validate its own power. The plan that began to form in Dean’s mind was too obvious. Dean was going to have to invoke the real trickster god to destroy the false one, just as Sam had invoked Aphrodite to destroy a false incarnate of beauty.

***

“Who was that chick?”

“Her name’s Jessica. She’s a friend.”

“She’s smoking hot.” Sam’s roommate, Alan, a stereotypical straight white boy with far too much testosterone for his own good, had bright green eyes and a cocky smirk that pissed Sam off for a reason it probably shouldn’t have.

“She’s really smart,” Sam retaliated, trying to tell the both of them that that’s what really mattered, even though he agreed that she was definitely hot as hell. Blonde hair and freckles.

 _Goddammit, snap out of it, Winchester!_.

“Hey, dude?”

“Yeah?” Sam had turned back to his algebra textbook, biting his lip as he worried over a problem involving gas mileage of an electric scooter, five trains, and two airplanes.

“Are you like, a Satanist or something?”

Sam wrinkles his nose and turned in his chair. “What? No. Why?”

“It’s just you have a pentacle tattoo. And all these candles and shit. Oh, and you put salt on the window.”

“I’m a Wiccan, man, not a Satanist.”

“A wicker-man?”

“A wick-an. I worship nature.”

“What’s with the salt then?”

“Keeps out bad energy.”

“You believe in that stuff?”

“Yeah. My brother an’ me. We’re—” Sam cut the sentence short, not really knowing anymore what Dean and he were.

Alan noticed Sam starting to look sad and dropped the subject. He must not do chick-flick moments either.

 _Jesus CHRIST, snap out of it!_.

“You going to Chad’s party tonight?”

“Nah. I’ve got work to do.”

“You’ve been working non-stop since you got here!”

“This is college. Isn’t that what people do here?”

“That’s what upper-classmen do. Freshmen drink.”

Sam thought back to a time a few weeks before he left for Stanford. He’d been sitting on the bed reading a book by a new Wiccan author while Dean meditated cross-legged on the floor. Dean had come out of the meditation scrubbing his eyes with his fists and looking tremendously confused. “Is it normal for a godform to tell you ‘you’re being a pussy’?”

Sam had burst out laughing. “Absolutely not. Who was that?”

“Thor.”

Sam had laughed even harder, clutching his sides. “Why’d he say that?”

Dean had shrugged, expression contorted with confusion. “Dunno. But it said the message was for you.”

Sam had told Dean to fuck off, Dean was the pussy, dammit, but now back in his dorm room with Alan, Sam began to wonder if Thor had been right. Sam stuck a pencil in his textbook to mark the page and closed it hastily. “Yeah, I guess I’ll go. But I ain’t driving your drunk-ass back here.”

“Nah man, I’ll be driving yours.”

***  
Dean knew invoking was different for everyone, but he couldn’t help wondering if it’d been like this for Sam. He could hear, see, feel, and consciously experience everything that was happening, but he couldn’t control any of it. Loki was doing all the talking and moving (and doing a fairly excellent job of sounding like Dean the whole time so Dad wouldn’t notice anything was up. 

Dean still couldn’t believe that after almost ten years, his father was still completely oblivious to his sons’ spirituality. Maybe he was in utter denial, maybe he had a lot more important shit to focus on, maybe he really was extremely thick and oblivious, or maybe it was a combination of all three. Dean didn’t question it though. It was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Although Dad had no idea, the false pagan god was all too aware of who was controlling Dean’s body. He could have easily stated that information out loud for John to hear as a means of hurting Dean, but he chose a much more unlpleasant alternative.

“It was your fault, Dean-o. All your fault that Sammy left you. He was sick of your stupid face, of you always being the good brother, the one daddy loved most.”

Upsetting the godform’s host tended to make it more difficult for the host to remain invoked, which meant Dean had to focus hard to keep from kicking Loki out of his body and strangling the bastard himself.

Loki was a suave, smooth godform though, and took it all in his stride, flawlessly maintaining Dean’s persona. “You shut your face. This ain’t about me. This is about you, tryin’ to be more powerful than you are. Trying to prove to yourself that you have all this control.”

The god snorted. “You think you’re such a cleaver little hunter, don’t you? You’re the one who’s so scared of being out of control, Dean-o. That time with Sam, back at Bobby’s, when you told Sam not to worry about you? You lied, little hunter. He should be very worried about you. You hate yourself so much, you’ll do anything to—”

Before the false god could finish that sentence, Loki stepped in, letting his true form show through Dean’s skin, just as Aphrodite had done with Sam to Abigail. “Don’t fuck with me,” Loki said through Dean’s mouth.

A very faint, very brief trace of doubt at the sight of the true godform appeared in the false god’s eyes, and before Dean himself could consciously react to it, he felt his body moving, slamming a sharp wooden stake into the false god’s chest. The creature’s eyes popped and it fell back slowly, clutching at its chest, gurgling, before it fell to the floor and stilled, then faded, leaving only clothes behind.

John just nodded, choosing to ignore everything the creature had said to Dean and it’s implications regarding Dean’s mental/emotional health. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah.”

Dean had to devoke by himself—no Sam to guide him through the meditation, only the use of memory and a sincere thank you to the godform. Just holler when you need me, Dean Winchester.

When Dean crawled into bed that night however, two phrases rang around and around in his skull.

 _Your fault your fault Sammy left you Sammy left you Sammy left you all your fault_.

***  
Sam was fucking hammered. In his dorm room, Alan and some curvy angel with ebony skin were going at it. Sam sat in the lounge down the hall with an almost empty bottle of tequila, drinking to the faint sounds of sex and staring semi-cross-eyed at the telephone in the corner of the room. He knew the number by heart. The worst thing that could happen would be it would go to voicemail. Sam took another few swigs, reminding himself of that fact. By the time the bottle was empty, Sam could barely stand, and had to clutch random surfaces as he guided himself over to the phone. It took him at least five tries to type in the correct number, as his fingers kept slipping, but he finally got it right (maybe) and flopped down onto the couch beside the phone as he listened to the ring. Beeeep. Beeeeep. Beeeep. Beeeeep. Voicemail, of course.

"This is Dean’s other, other, wait, is this the other-other, or just the other? Dammit, whatever, this is Dean. Leave a message and I’ll call back if I’m not dead. Beep."

“Bean. I um…I shoulda called weeks ago. ’M sorry. I’man ashhole. ‘Ts all mah fault. Love you.” Sam clicked the phone back into the socket and rubbed his eyes fiercely.   
He leaned his head back against the couch cushions and closed his eyes. When he opened them, light was streaming in through the windows and his chin was covered in drool. He blinked hard, noticing a red light glowing on the answering machine. Sam held the phone up to his ear and pressed the button next to the light.

“Sammy.” A ten second pause followed. “Love you too.” Click, beep, silence.


	8. The Taste of Loss (Narrated by an Omnipresent Deity)

What John never found out was that for Sam’s first year at Stanford, his sons exchanged phone messages once a week. They were no more than a few sentences, and said relatively the same thing each time: “Miss you, love you, etc.” At the end of the year, Sam left a longer one. “So um…spring semester’s about to end and…well, I thought I could visit. For the summer. If that’s okay.”

Dean showed the message to John. He listened to it patiently before pressing *69. When the call went to voicemail, he said two words. “Hell no.”\

Dean called to apologize, but Sam never called back. He worried for a moment about where Sam would go for the summer before he remembered that colleges tended to offer summer classes. Sam would probably do that.

John and Dean’s conversation became much more strained than they’d ever been between each other after that. For the majority of his life, Dean had always done whatever Dad said, but they began to disagree on everything—which monster was what, where to go next, whether they should ask Bobby for help, if they should get gas in this town or the next.

On the day of Sam’s 19th birthday—which neither of them verbally mentioned—John and Dean were leaving Bobby’s for a hunt. Unceremoniously, John handed Dean the keys to the impala. “You take her, Bobby ‘n I will take the truck.” When the hunt was over, Bobby went home, John took the truck East, and Dean took the impala West. And that was that.

Dean spent a solid few days pondering Dad’s logic. Sammy wasn’t allowed to leave, but the two of them could part ways just like that, no problem? Dean felt that mild stinging in his gut that was brought on whenever he realized how much more important Sam was to Dad than he was. What-the-fuck-ever. This split up was essentially for the best anyway, as now more ground could be covered at once, more monsters could get ganked, and more lives could be saved. Dean told himself it would have been like that even if Sam had stayed. He told himself that until he almost believed it.

When Dad called him with a case, he took it. When Dad asked for backup, he came (and then left). When Dad didn’t call for weeks on end, he’d call Bobby for cases. Bobby almost always had something for Dean to do but on the rare occasions he didn’t, Dean would spend the majority of his time drinking, fucking (both dudes and chicks—honestly, whoever was down) chain smoking, and hustling pool. 

On a drive through Sedona as he searched out a bar, Dean found himself passing a New Age store, "Wise Encounters". 

, and he abruptly realized that he hadn’t done any rituals or even meditated for at least two months.

Dean parked the impala a few feet from the store, fed the meter, and swaggered in, thumbs in his pockets.

He was first drawn to a shelf covered in figurines and statues of godforms from all different pantheons. Dean recognized Artemis and thought momentarily of buying her for his portable altar—invoking her at some point would come in very handy during a future hunt—but moved away from the shelf quickly once he caught sight of the price tag.

“Can I help you find anything?” The man at the register—a tall, dark-skinned guy with some serious looking muscles and shoulder-length dreads was studying Dean curiously.

“Don’t really know what I’m looking for, to be honest.”

The man thought for a moment, biting his lip. “Seems like you’re a bit scattered.”

Dean chuckled humorously. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Need to get back on your feet with the Craft?”

“I want to, but…” Dean hesitated, not sure how much he should tell this stranger, but quickly decided fuck it, it’s not like I’ll ever see him again, and elaborated. “It’s weird now, with my brother away at college.”

The man nodded, seeming to understand. “My boyfriend and I, we do most of our practicing together too. It almost feels more sacred that way, ya know? Merging yourself with universal energy with someone you love beside you?”

“Yeah,” Dean found himself agreeing, despite that he and Sam, you know, didn’t have that kind of relationship, “it just feels right. Like you’re not alone.” Jesus, when did he start sounding so disgustingly girly when talking about this stuff?

They were both quiet for a few moments. 

“Hey, this’ll cheer you up.”

Dean was about to argue that he wasn’t sad, but he realized that he sort of was, so he didn’t protest one bit when the cashier pulled out two beers from underneath the counter.

“You drink at work?”

“The boss is an alcoholic, and these are actually hers. I don’t feel one bit guilty about helping myself if it keeps her sober too.”

Dean saluted his bottle to that before popping the top off with the ring of his key chain and taking a swig.

“My name’s Dave,” the cashier said. “Yours?”

“Dean.”

“Well Dean, I’m real glad you stopped by. It’s important for guys like us to stick together. Not enough other Wiccans out there to talk frankly about this kinda thing.”

They drank in silence for a minute or two, both leaning against the counter. Dean’s eyes darted around, taking in the entirety of the shop. “Hey,” he started, “you got any tarot decks?” Dean remembered how Sammy used to read his deck whenever he needed advice that he felt only the universe could answer. He always swore up and down that the cards never lied.

“Tons,” Dave replied. “Any particular design you have in mind?”

“Maybe something that’s easy to read, ya know, just by the images? That Raider Waite deck is a nightmare without checking the manual for every card.”

“I’ve got just the thing.” Dave led Dean to the back of the store where there was a floor to ceiling shelf positively overflowing with decks. Dave scanned up and down for a moment before grabbing one and handing it to Dean.

“Each card of the major arcana is a different deity. You’re pretty familiar with your deities, right?”

Dean nodded, studying the intricate images on the front of the back of the box.

“The minor arcana tells a story about a certain godform for each suit. If you’re familiar with the godform and its legends, you’re good to go.”

Dean couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face. “This is awesome. Like, seriously awesome. How much?”

“This one’s usually twenty, but I’ll give it to you for ten. Seems like you could really use it.”

“Thanks, man. Really. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

Dean rented a room in Sedona that night, deciding it was about time he slept in an actual bed instead of the backseat. He spent the evening cleansing his new deck with incense and rose quartz, and then did a small three-card reading without any specific question in mind just to break it in. When he drew The Hermit, The Devil, and The Lovers, he had to hand it to Sam—the cards definitely didn’t lie.

***

During the month between summer and fall quarter, Stanford wouldn’t let Sam live on campus, as the dorms were reserved for high school students doing summer camps, and visiting professors doing research. Since he’d been too focused on school to look for work and apartments required down-payments, Sam quickly realized he was in a bit of a bind. He dialed Dean’s number approximately twelve times, but kept hanging up on the second ring. Deciding that plan was futile, Sam called Bobby instead, who was more than excited to hear from him.

“Sam? Is that you?”

“Hi, Uncle Bobby.”

“Christ, Sam, it’s been ages! How are ya, son?” 

“I’m great!” Sam lied. “Really great, actually.”

“Come on Sam, you wouldn’t be callin’ if you were ‘great.’”

Sam had no rebuttal to that statement. “Well, I would be great, but I don’t have a place to stay until school starts up again next month, and—”

“Get yer ass over here, boy. You’re always welcome. And don’t you worry, your daddy ‘n me got in another fight, and he’s still givin’ me the silent treatment.”

“Thanks, Bobby. Seriously, thanks so much.”

That’s how Sam wound up spending his summer sprawled out on the floor of Bobby’s study surrounded by books, just as he’d done as a kid. Researching for Bobby and other hunters, Sam realized, was actually really pleasant when he wasn’t involved in the hunt himself. Bobby had an unlimited supply of tea, and Sam quickly remembered how much he adored ancient mythology and folklore.

Although Dad and Bobby currently weren’t on speaking terms, Sam was well aware that Bobby and Dean’s relationship was as cordial and full of friendly banter as usual. The first time Dean called the house, Bobby was a millisecond from asking Dean if he wanted to talk to his brother, before Sam frantically shook his sleeve and mouthed

iI’m not here! .

_Fucking idjit,_.

Bobby mouthed back, but kept his silence until the end of the call, at which point he rounded on Sam and demanded to know what the fuck was going on between him and his brother.

“We just…”

“Just what?”

“He’s mad at me.”

“So? You two are always mad at each other.”

“He feels like I left him, Bobby.” Sam found himself raising his voice in an effort not to tear up like (to use Thor’s vocabulary) a pussy.

“I understand your daddy being an irrational little piss about that sorta thing, but Dean? He’d forgive ya in a heartbeat. You know that.”

Bobby was already well aware though that just like his daddy, Sam was a stubborn little shit. Yet Bobby was Bobby, and did things as he damn well thought was right, so when Dean showed up at his door a couple days before Sam was about to head back to school, he just led the kid on into his study.

“So I’ve been tracking the damn thing across three states, and it just keeps disappearing! I’m not sure if—” Dean nearly choked on his own air, and actually took a step backwards. “S-Sam?”

“Dean?!” Sam scrambled to his feet, tripping on a few books and falling flat on his face. “Dean!”

“For fuck’s sake, Sammy—” Dean knelt to help his little brother to his feet out of pure reflex. The two ended up gaping at each other, hands still grasped together from when Sam had used Dean’s for leverage. The next thing the boys knew, they were in a bear hug, heads buried into each other’s shoulders and fingers desperately clutching at the backs of t-shirts.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asked into the crook of Sam’s neck.

“The dorms are closed until next week. I’ve been here for a month.”

“Jesus, Sam, you coulda called me!”

“No,” Sam whispered, “I couldn’t. You know that.”

“Well ain’t this touching,” Bobby interjected. “When you boys finish your chick-flick moment, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Sam and Dean listened to Bobby’s boots thud on the wood floor, still clutching at each.

“Missed you, Sammy. So much.”

Sam hiccupped. “Missed you too.”

Dean leaned back and cupped Sam’s cheeks in his hands, rubbing the soft skin with his thumbs. Sam let his eyes flutter shut and inhaled deeply.

“Where’s Dad?” Sam asked.

“Dunno. Haven’t heard from him in a few weeks.”

“You’re hunting by yourself?” Sam’s voice rose in mild panic.

“’M fine, Sammy. Not a scratch on me. See?”

Sam was quiet for a moment. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m uh…my bus is supposed to leave the day after tomorrow…but, do you um…I mean, we could drive together, if you want. I could show you around Palo Alto.”

Sam’s expression was so hopeful, so open and vulnerable, that Dean felt his eyes watering. “I’m in the middle of a hunt, Sam. A real big-bad. I can’t abandon it now.”

Sam’s face seemed to shatter and harden within the span of a second. He slowly detached himself from Dean’s touch. “It’s fine, I get it. I know where your priorities lie. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Sam began to walk out, but Dean held him back with a hand to the shoulder. “Sam, wait. What if I come visit you? When this is over?”

“How is this different from all of last year? You could have come seen me anytime then.”

“I was with Dad then.”

“Oh, so if Dad says, ‘don’t visit your brother at college even though he’d sell his left nut to see you,’ you just go with it?”

“You—you wanted to see me that bad?”

“Yeah, Dean! You’re my brother! You’re my—of course I wanted to see you! But if Dad’s pride is so much more important to you, then fine, whatever.”

“Sam—”

“Or maybe you just didn’t want to see me. Was that it?”

“Dammit Sam—”

Bobby banged on the wall from the kitchen. “Hey! If y’all are gonna argue, take it outside. Givin’ me a migraine here.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance that said Oh it is ON, and made their way for the door. Dean slammed it shut hard behind him and they continued into the junk yard without speaking or looking at each other.

When they deemed they were far enough away from the house for Bobby not to hear the rest of their discussion, they picked up right where they left off.

“Of course I wanted to see you! I thought about you every day! You know how many times I spent staring at my fucking phone praying that you would call?”

“You had my number! Why didn’t you just call me?”

“’Cause I thought you didn’t want to talk to me!”

“There was nothing in the world I wanted more than to talk to you!”

Dean must have missed when it started, but Sam’s eyes were puffy with tears streaming down his cheeks. Noticing that made Dean’s own tears bleed over, and for once, he wasn’t silent. He was loud as fuck, bawling like a toddler. 

They stayed like that, standing face to face and crying loud and messy, for an unidentifiable about of time—although the sky above had gotten substantially darker than it’d been when they first came outside. When they were completely out of breath and shaking with the aftershocks of their outburst, they ended up wrapped around each other again, faces in the crooks of necks and fingers tight on shoulders.

Unconsciously, Dean moved his face towards Sam’s ear and brushed his nose against it. Sam leaned into it, sighing softly. Dean began to trail his nose down Sam’s neck, ghosting his lips over the tender place between throat and collar bone. Sam found himself wrapping two hands around the back of Dean’s head, drawing him closer.  
The first substantial press of lips to skin was below Sam’s earlobe. Sam groaned at the sensation, parting his legs and pulling Dean’s body flush with his own. When Dean’s mouth landed on Sam’s, plush and soft, their breathing escalated in unison and hands when to faces, cupping jaws and stroking over stubble.

Dean and Sam kissed each other for the first time the way a kitten first dips its paw in a stream of water; inquisitive and lingering, drawing back slightly between breaths, unaware of what was happening between them and oblivious to what would happen afterwards. It wasn’t until Dean’s tongue parted Sam’s lips, seeking the soft skin between, when the realization of what was happening both crashed down on them. There was no swearing and jumping back with angry, flabbergasted expressions though—just a slow, gradual detaching of lips and limbs that ended with their foreheads pressed together.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, barely audible, “did we just make out?”

“Uh.” Dean paused, drawing his face away from Sam’s and taking a step backwards. “Yeah? Yeah. Oh fuck.” Dean wiped his hand hastily across his mouth. “Fuck.”

Sam was silent, staring at his feet, thumbs in his pockets, unmoving. “Dean. Why did we just make out.”

“I don’t know, okay! I just.” Dean raked a hand through his hair. “What the fuck.” Dean began pacing. Dean always reacted physically, externally, when something drastic happened. Sam always turned inward, processing everything mentally until he was positive what his reaction should be.

When Sam managed to catch Dean’s eyes, Dean noticed Sam was crying again; silently this time, face utterly stoic.

Even when Dean had absolutely no words to comfort his little brother, he always managed to drag some to the surface and voice them, even if they were meaningless or irrelevant. This time, Dean had nothing. He just stared at Sam, expression swimming with confusion and a bone-deep special type of terror that is utterly unique to kissing your younger brother after barely exchanging any form of contact with each other for a year.

“I can drive you, if you want,” Dean offered, clueless as to what other words were available to him. “The hunt’ll be there when I get back.”

“It’s okay,” Sam replied, hastily scraping the back of his hand across his eyes. “you should…you should keep at it.” Sam’s voice was so faint. “I already bought a bus ticket anyway.”

Dean clapped Sam’s shoulder. “Okay.” He bit his lip, mining for something to say. “Hey um, we should go back inside, so Bobby doesn’t think we killed each other.”

“Sure.”

It didn’t take long for Dean to get the information he needed from Bobby, and for them to develop a more concrete game-plan for tracking, finding, and killing Dean’s current conquest—some high level demon who’d been reeking havoc on various towns in what had seemed like a completely random order.. Bobby offered Dean a bed to sleep in for the night, but Dean declined, insisting that he better get on the road before the thing got off his radar again.

Bobby conveniently had something very important he needed to check on upstairs (although it was very unclear what exactly that was), and left Sam and Dean on the doorstep to say their goodbyes.

“You should, um, swing by Stanford sometime. If you can.” Sam was staring at his feet again.

“Yeah.”

“Just, um…”

“Sam.”

“What?”

“It might be best if we uh, don’t see each other for awhile.”

Sam didn’t move when Dean gave him a half-second half-hug and opened the door. He stood stock still as the door shut and didn’t move until the impala’s engine had become inaudible as it traveled out of earshot. 

In Sam’s dreams that night, he and Dean were kissing again. When Sam pulled back to catch his breath, Dean’s face had transformed into Aphrodite’s. Her mouth formed two words.

_“I’m sorry.”_.

***

Nirvana was blaring so loudly that the entire impala vibrated. Dean head banged fiercely, partly to try to stay awake and partly to maintain focus on the lyrics and beat rather than thinking about how fucking perfect it felt kissing his brother—like he could kiss Sam until the world ended, screw sleep or food or going to the bathroom. Dean wished with his entire being that he could have said something else to Sam before he left. He would have given the entire universe to have wrapped Sammy in a bear hug and promise of course he would visit Sam at Stanford and that he was such an asshole for not doing so before. He couldn’t though. He had kissed his BROTHER—hell, had wanted to do so much more than kiss him. They needed to be away from each other now more than ever. 

With that logic firmly planted in his head that night as he sprawled out in the backseat to catch a few hours of sleep before hitting the road again, Dean felt a bit taken aback be kissing Sam in his dream. When he pulled back to study Sam’s face though, Dean noticed that no, it was Aphrodite he’d been kissing. The goddess looked outrageously pissed. She murmured

_“Dumbass,” and slapped him hard across the face._.


	9. Taking You Home (Narrated By Aphrodite)

Not including Dean, Sam figured he’d had maybe three friends (Jess, Alan, and Brady) in his entire life—four, counting Bones. Out of sheer luck, the only human friend he’d met earlier in life had wound up at Stanford with Sam, and since Alan had moved to another dorm and Brady had recently gotten involved in some nasty drugs, Sam found himself spending the majority of his time with Jess when he wasn’t studying alone.

“Sam,” she confronted him finally, “I love hanging out with you, seriously, but out of curiosity and meaning totally no offence…do you have like, any other friends?”

Sam would have been a little insulted had anyone else asked, but he knew Jessica meant it out of genuine concern. “Uh…no?” he replied.

“Alright, we are fixing that. Immediately.”

“How?”

“I heard a rumor at freshmen orientation many moons ago that joining a club is a great way to make new friends.”

“That sounds like work. Can’t you just introduce me to your friends so we can all be a big happy family?”

“I can and will, but you have to put in the effort too.”

“But I don’t want to put in effort.” It wasn’t that Sam was lazy, really. It was that he was excruciatingly shy, and after being warned for years not to get too attached to new friends, old habits die hard.

“All you’ve gotta do is show up for one club meeting once a week, say hi to a few people, and leave, okay? I’ll even go with you.”

Jessica managed to locate a list of Stanford’s student clubs from the student union building, and together she and Sam combed through the list. The Star Wars and book-group club were put in the mental maybe pile, but Sam kept shooting down most of the ideas.

“Sam, come on. Just pick one.”

Exasperated and eager to get the process over with, Sam closed his eyes, spun the paper around, and stuck his finger on a random section of the page. When he opened his eyes, he found that he’d unwillingly chosen Debate Club. The next meeting was on the upcoming Tuesday evening. Jess accompanied a reluctant Sam to a room in the basement of the Humanities building, where Sam took a seat in the far back.

Sam was quiet through social introductions—still very shy even though there were barely ten people in the room. It wasn’t until the club president announced that today’s mock debate would be regarding the Death Penalty that Sam’s head jerked up, suddenly intrigued.

Jessica took note of the subtle change in Sam’s energy, and when volunteers were called to argue for different sides, she stepped on his toe hard, making him squeak loudly, drawing everyone’s attention, and forcing him to volunteer. Since he was the first one to speak, Sam got first pick of which side he wanted to take. Without hesitating even slightly, he chose for.

His opponent was a liberal little spitfire who made some seriously excellent points about how everyone has a right to life, but Sam managed to shut her down at every turn, listing cases of people from memory who were genuinely evil to the point where keeping them alive would be immoral. If Sam hadn’t been raised by a family of killing machines, his opinion would have most likely been entirely different. But Sam had seen the face of true evil, had seen monsters destroy innocents—monsters who would never stop being monsters, who needed to be taken out without a shred of hesitation or mercy, and that life experience spurred him on to make an argument that, although wasn’t flawless and had a few holes, was persuasive enough to win the debate with nearly the entire club in his favor.

Sam left the club grinning from ear to ear, having shaken the hands of all the other members and officially introduced himself. For the rest year, Sam didn’t miss a single meeting, and by the end of spring quarter, he was unanimously elected president of Stanford’s debate club. This gradually began to inspire in him a goal to debate for a living—to help people by debating, and led in turn to him declaring a major in Political Science at the beginning of his Junior year. Apparently butting heads with Dad for the majority of his life had paid off. 

Around the end of Sam’s junior year, Stanford called him in for an interview to their law school the following November. By the time that year had ended, he and Jessica were a couple.

There was no ‘official’ marking point or anniversary for when it happened. Their friendship had grown more physical over the years, slowly beginning to include lingering hugs, leaning against each other and cuddling during movies, and kissing cheeks and foreheads as hellos and goodbyes. 

The most tangible turning point occurred one night when they were sitting on the couch in Jessica’s studio apartment, watching the first three Harry Potter movies and throwing popcorn at each other, giggling like drunken schoolgirls. Jess had fallen sideways, her head landing on Sam’s chest. As they continued to watch, Sam stroked her hair lazily, twining it around his fingers and tucking it behind her ears. When The Chamber of Secrets ended, Jess rolled over to gaze up at Sam, mouth turned up in a little Smile. Delicately, Sam bent down and pressed his lips to hers. He half expected her to pull away, but Jess deepened the kiss, making tiny moaning noises against his lips.

By the end of "The Prisoner of Askaban," Sam’s hands had found their way under Jess’ bra, and he was sucking tenderly on her neck, murmuring how beautiful she was against her skin. Eventually he hefted her in his arms like a baby and carried her into the bedroom, where they proceeded to slowly remove each other’s clothing.

Sam didn’t even have to prep her—Jess was sopping wet, writhing and begging beneath him as he gingerly slid inside her, stroking her arms and kissing her deeply the whole time.

“Love you so much,” he breathed into her lips as they came together, shuddering and trembling in each other’s arms.

When the summer quarter before their senior year had ended, they moved in together—choosing a quiet, cozy apartment a little ways away from campus. The backseat of the impala, the tiny guest room at Bobby’s, and the infinitesimal dorm rooms Sam shared with a new stranger each year couldn’t whatsoever be considered a home. This space he now had with Jess was the closest he’d ever come to it.

Jessica had been aware of Sam’s spiritual practices since their freshman year, and didn’t in any way object to the permanent (not portable) altar Sam set up on the east wall of their bedroom. 

Jess was an atheist, but she loved Sam, and did what she could to support him in all the aspects of his life that she could. When Sam found her one day, sprawled out on their bed with her feet in the air, intently reading A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner, his heart swelled heavy and hard. His eyes began to water as he scooted next to her on the bed and proceeded to explain in more detail the chapter about ritual set-up while she listened in raptly, nodding her understanding and occasionally requesting clarification.

With Sam’s knowledge of Jess’ support and approval, the apartment quickly became decked-out in pagan paraphernalia—framed pictures of godforms lining the walls, incense and crystals covering every surface, and even candles in the bathroom. Surrounded by his beautiful girlfriend and emblems of his faith in this segment of a building that was utterly his, Sam was finally able to replace this feeling of ultimate safety with the one he’d had throughout his life.

***

Dean rehearsed what he was going to say to Sam over and over as he drove.

_I don’t know where Dad is._.

No, not that.

_I think Dad’s in trouble._ No, Dad’s always in trouble. I need your help, Sammy. Not that either. Dad hasn’t been home in a few days. They didn’t even have a home. Whatever. 

Dean hadn’t talked to Sam in almost two years—didn’t know if he was still living on campus (suspected he wasn’t), didn’t know his phone number, didn’t know if he was going by an alias, fuck, didn’t even know for sure if he was still in Palo Alto. He was Dean fucking Winchester though, and he would find his brother. End of story.

After a long search through a few phone books and a visit (a.k.a. break-in, since it was closed at the time) to the campus’ main offices, Dean was about 73% sure he knew where Sam lived. Dean found the building and parked the impala around the corner around 10:00pm. It took him much longer than he anticipated to open the door and set his feet on the pavement, and when he did, Dean realized he needed a drink, immediately.

Leaving the car where it was, he meandered over a few blocks until he found a place that served alcohol, and proceeded to drink two beers, three shots of Everclear, and a Pina-Colada. Then of course he needed to sit for awhile to sober the fuck up before he went banging on his estranged brother’s door in the middle of the night.

When Dean finally got his shit together, he realized that it was very unlikely for Sam to be awake at 3:00am on a school-night. Dean could easily have gone to the door like a normal person. He definitely thought about it for a few minutes. Maybe he was still drunk, maybe he was just so used to breaking into houses that it came second nature, maybe he was terrified because the last time he’d seen his brother he’d kissed him, or maybe a combination of all three. Regardless, Dean ended up climbing the fire escape and entering the apartment through the cracked window that led him into the kitchen.

The living space was meticulously clean, and radiated positive spiritual energy, which Dean quickly realized to be coming from all the crystals and god/dess statues and pictures that lined the walls and surfaces. On the coffee table in the living room sat a figurine of Lakshmi, the very first deity Sam ever prayed to. There were no spell ingredients around it, so Dean figured it was safe to pick up. Lakshmi was dressed in pink silks and decked in jewels. When Dean turned her over, he realized there was a hole between her feet where a few ten dollar bills were hidden.

The apartment’s unique aura must have been substantially distracting, because the next thing Dean knew, a tangle of limbs and muscle was surrounding him and attempting to throw him across the room. Sam. The Lakshmi figurine slipped from Dean’s hands and onto the floor beside him, but thankfully didn’t break.

Dean managed to wrestle his brother onto his back. “Whoa, easy tiger.”

“Dean?!”

Dean couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing at the incredulous expression on his brother’s face.

“You scared the crap out of me!”

“That’s ‘cause you’re out of practice.”

Being pinned to the floor two seconds later cued Dean in to the fact that was the wrong thing to say. “Or not.”

Sam pulled Dean to his feet hastily. They stood only a few inches apart, staring at each other intently, both having too much to say and no clue how to say it.

“Have you fucking heard of a telephone?” Sam started.

“If I’d called, would you have picked up?”

Sam’s jaw hardened.

“Sam?”

Dean’s mouth fell open at the sight of the girl. One, because she was hot as hell, and two, because…because…blonde hair and freckles…holy shit she looks like me.

“Jess.” Sam reached out to her. “Dean, this is Jessica, my girlfriend.”

“Dean? As in, your ex, Dean?”

Dean figured might have to have a doctor examine his jaw for fractures considering the intensity in which it dropped at that statement.

“You told her I was your ex?” The words came out a little more breathless than Dean had intended them to.

“Well, yeah. Speaking of which, what are you doing here?”

“We gotta talk. Ya know, discuss our broken relationship and express our pent-up feelings and all that crap.”

“Whatever you need to say to me, you can say it in front of her.”

“Okay.” Dean sighed dramatically. “Dad—er, my Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.”

“And you broke into my house to tell me that because...?”

“Dad’s on a hunting trip. And he hasn’t been home in a few days.” 

_Annnndddd there it is,_.

Dean thought smugly, watching a variety of emotions play across Sam’s face, ending in the tightening of lips and hardening of eyes.

“Jess excuse us.”

Jessica turned to Sam, eyes wide and frightened. “What’s going on?”

Sam grabbed her hands in his. “It’ll be okay, I promise. Just…it’s kind of an emergency.” He kissed her cheek before nodding meaningfully at Dean and leading him downstairs.

The moment the door shut, they both started talking at the same time. “You told your girlfriend we’d been dating?”

“You broke into my house to tell me Dad’s gone missing?”

“We’re brothers, Sam!”

“You kissed me and then never talked to me again!”

“It was a mistake!”

“WHY IS DAD MISSING?”

“Last I heard, three weeks ago, was he was hunting the yellow-eyed demon.”

“What.”

“He left a message, said he was getting close to that bastard we’ve been hunting since we were kids, the thing that killed mom.”

“Why weren’t you with him?”

“We haven’t hunted together for a long time.”

“What? Since when?”

“Since a few months after you left.” The whispered words were a jarring contrast from the back and forth shouting that’d gone on for so long.

Sam pressed his lips into a firm line and nodded once, unspoken thoughts loud between them. I fucking broke our broken family and no one bothered to tell me about it.

“Let me get this straight. Dad’s been tracking the yellow-eyed demon, by himself, and you haven’t heard from him in three weeks?”

“That sums it up quite nicely, yeah.”

“Ever think he was staying under the radar to keep you safe?”

“Fucking duh, Sam, of course I thought that. But I don’t give a shit. I think Dad’s in trouble and I’m gonna find him.”

“And you need me because…?”

“I can’t do this alone.”

“Yes you can.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t want to.” Dean raised his eyebrows, signifying both a challenge and a silent plea for Sam to get on board.

Sam ran a hand heavily through his hair. “What do you want me to do?”

***

The Woman in White would have been beautiful if she wasn’t so terrifying. Her skin was ice when she pressed against Sam, pushing him backwards in the front seat and climbing on top of him. Sam struggled desperately, but she was too strong and too fast.

“Hold me. I’m so cold,” she whispered to him.

_What the hell, ghosts don’t get cold,_.

Sam thought vaguely as he wriggled and fought against her kiss. “You can’t kill me,” he gasped against her lips, “I’m not unfaithful. I’ve never been.”

The Woman in White pulled back so that she could stare very pointedly straight into Sam’s eyes. Her voice was more sad than frightening when she retaliated with “You will be.”

When she stuck her fingertips into his chest, reaching for his heart, Sam allowed himself to scream. Seriously, this was how he was going to die? On his first hunt in four years by the hands of nothing more than a broken girl?

The first gunshot startled him. The second and third allowed him to finally free himself from the ghost’s grasp, and by the forth, she had momentarily disappeared. Sam shot straight up and slammed his foot on the gas, aiming straight for the house as he muttered, “I’m taking you home.”

***

The car was only mildly scathed, so Dean wasn’t going to kill him (yet). For the first hour, they drove aimlessly, not really conscious of a destination. Sam made some calls and did some research on his phone with the coordinates Dean had found in Dad’s journal to find out where he’d headed to next.

“It’s about 600 miles from here.”

“If we keep driving we can get there by morning.”

“Dean. My interview is in ten hours. I’ve been preparing for it since the middle of last year. I’ve gotta be there.” Sam stared at Dean intently, waiting for a response. He expected Dean to retaliate, say that it was his job to follow this all the way through, but Dean said nothing for a moment. He nodded a few times, half-frowning, half-smiling, lips pressed together hard, and Sam realized that Dean was trying not to cry.

“Yeah, alright,” Dean muttered when he’d repressed his tears enough to form words without sounding choked up. “I’ll take you home.”

After everything they’d been through together the past three days, those words pinched at something in Sam’s chest and snapped. “Hey,” he told Dean, “pull over real quick.”

Dean raised an eyebrow but didn’t object; just pulled the car smoothly into the emergency lane and shut of the engine. “What’s up?”

“Stanford’s never been home for me, Dean. I mean, this apartment I have with Jess, it’s the closest to home I’ve ever gotten, but it still ain’t home.”

“Dammit Sam, this isn’t gonna be another chick-flick moment, is it?”

“Can you be serious for like two seconds? I’m trying to say something here.”

Dean swallowed. “Okay. So Stanford’s not home.”

“No. Hell, this whole hunt, with Constance not being able to go home and all, has made me realize that. And I was playing over different ideas in my head, like maybe home was the impala, or just is wherever Jess is, but…”

“Dude, where is this going?”

“You’re my home, Dean. You’ve always been. And even if I can’t come with you to find Dad, I want to be part of this. I want my brother back.”

“Sam, if this is about what happened the last time we saw each other, I’m sorry—”

“I didn’t care about the damn kiss! I cared that you refused to talk to me after! You wanna know why I told Jess you were my ex? Because it felt like you were my ex. I fucking love you, dude, and you left me!”

“If I remember correctly, you’re the one who went off to college! You’re the one who left me!”

“And I told you a thousand times it didn’t have to be like that!”

They were both beat-red in the face, smoke practically pouring from their nostrils, fists clenched in their laps. They sat for a while like that, huffing and puffing and fuming until their breath began flowing more steadily.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I just—”

“No, don’t. You’re right.”

Sam’s eyes started to water. “I missed you, Dean.”

“Missed you too, Sammy.”

And then they were kissing. This time, it wasn’t gradual or gentle. It was rough, angry, desperate—hands grabbing and pulling at hair and muscles, lips and tongues tearing into each other as they sobbed into each other’s mouths. Dean pressed himself closer to Sam, reaching under Sam’s shirt to feel the taut abdominal muscles under his palms. “Sam.” Dean’s lips trailed down to Sam’s neck and began sucking it roughly. “Sam, hold me. I’m so cold.”

Sam froze, understanding worming its way through him. Freeing his hands from where they were wrapped around Dean’s shoulders, he pushed against his brother’s chest, hard. Dean sat back, expression surprised and wounded.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice came out horrified. “I…my girlfriend.”

The realization of what they’d just done (for the second time in their lives) smacked Dean hard. Hastily, he repositioned himself in the driver’s seat. 

In turn, Sam settled himself back down as well, and used the mirror to fix his hair back to normal and make sure the hicky on his neck wasn’t going to be too obvious. He might need to borrow some of Jess’ makeup later. Explaining to her why would be a very difficult task.

Neither of them spoke until they arrived outside Sam’s apartment.

“Maybe I’ll meet up with you later?” Sam suggested after he’d gotten out and shut the door.

“Yeah, okay.” It was Dean’s turn to notice how intensely his brother was trying not to cry. As Sam nodded and began to turn away, Dean called out again. “Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“We made a hellavua team back there.”

Sam blinked hard at Dean’s words and playfully smacked the passenger door before heading inside.

The shower running was the first thing Sam heard when he opened the door to his suite. He knew he’d have to tell Jess what happened between him and Dean, and he knew he needed to do it sooner than later. Maybe he wouldn’t bother covering up the hicky; just let her know how badly he’d fucked up and beg her endlessly to forgive him. He wondered if she would. 

He called Jess’ name a few times, but figured the water must have made it hard for her to hear. He flopped down on the bed, sighing, and closed his eyes. 

Something wet began dripping on his forehead. When he wiped his hand across his brow, he bolted upright, realizing it was blood.

There was Jessica, the love of his life, the most innocent, perfect girl in the world, pinned to the ceiling, stomach ripped open, eyes glazed over and unseeing.  
All Sam remembered was screaming her name before he blacked out from horror.

When he came to, he was leaning against the hood of the impala, Dean standing before him gently slapping his face and shaking his shoulders. “Sam. Sam. Sammy! Hey, come back to me.”

“Dean.” Sam fell forward into his brother’s chest and began to sob hysterically. He didn’t say a word after that; just let Dean do all the talking to the firefighters, policemen and bystanders. He was silent too as he stared into the impala’s trunk, double checking that he had everything he need. “We’ve got work to do,” was the last thing he said for the next two days.


	10. Forgiveness (Narrated by an Omnipresent Deity)

They were too busy working, following Dad’s orders in hope to find him, to acknowledge what was happening between them. At least, that’s what they kept telling themselves. Dean went the extra mile, flirting conspicuously with anything that moved right in front of Sam, and even scoring kisses from Andrea and Haley without even working for it. Sam was too tired and miserable to be pissed off about Dean’s shenanigans anyway. The woman he loved—who he was planning to marry—was dead, and it was his entire fucking fault.  
Dean was well aware that Sam’s mental and emotional well-being was not holding up that well, especially considering the nightmares. Dean encouraged Sam to meditate before bed, but Sam refused—he needed to pay his dues, needed to wallow in his suffering for awhile longer, and horrific dreams were a start.

Their fifth hunt back on the road together was when shit officially hit the fan. Sam seemed to be holding up fairly well for the majority of the hunt. He even made sure to capture a great shot of Dean’s ass in the video camera while they were checking out the victim’s bedroom, to which Dean asked, “Do I look like Paris Hilton?” and made them both blush.

It was when Sam suggested that he be the one to summon Mary to her mirror that Dean realized something was very fucking wrong.

“Alright, you know what? That’s it.” Dean pulled the car to the side of the road to refrain from crashing into a tree while he lost his shit. “This is about Jessica, isn’t it? You think that’s your dirty little secret? That you killed her somehow? Sam, this has gotta stop, man. I mean the nightmares and calling her name out in the middle of the night? It's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me. It wasn't your fault."

“You don’t know that.”

“Is this about…what happened on the way back to Stanford? You think what we did—”

“Of course not!” Sam lied. “And that wouldn’t be a secret, would it?”

“Well, whatever’s going on, this plan? I don’t like it. It’s not gonna happen. Forget it.”

“Dean, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it! And you know what? Who knows how many people are gonna die after that? Now, we’re doing this. You gotta let me do this.”

Because Sam was his baby brother and his puppy-dog eyes were a lethal weapon, Dean ended up agreeing to the plan. Dean wasn’t a dumbass though, he knew Sam wanted to do this as some form of self-punishment, and Dean would be damned if he let Sam get away with that. Yet when Sam summoned the bitch to the mirror, the stupid universe insisted that Dean deal with the cops who just had to show up at that exact moment. After five minutes of failing to reason with them, Dean just knocked them out, and then wondered why he didn’t just do that first thing.

When he went back inside, Sam was on the floor, eyes bleeding profusely and face coated in red smears. In one quick swoop, Dean smashed the mirror to shreds, then frantically knelt down next to his brother and took Sam’s face in his palms, whispering “Sammy” over and over.

It took a few seconds for Sam to come out of his reverie, It’s your fault. You killed her. You killed Jessica, still playing on repeat in his head. He managed to croak out “It’s Sam,” before collapsing against Dean’s chest.

Dean slowly guided his brother to his feet. They were halfway out the door when they heard footsteps against glass, and then they were both on their knees again, blood streaming down their faces. Barely able to see, Dean instinctively held up the mirror closest to him, forcing Mary to look straight into it. They both listened to her scream and then dissolve among the rest of the glass.

On the way back to the car, Sam had to ask. “Dean, your eyes…what was that about?”

Dean ducked his head and ran a hand over his hair. “Could have been a lot of stuff. I don’t exactly have a squeaky clean slate.”

Sam let it go. Making Dean tell him his secret would be super hypocritical. And when Dean asked Sam what his secret had been in the car the next day, it made Sam feel much less guilty about not giving an answer.

“Look, you’re my brother and I’d die for you, but there’s some things I need to keep to myself.”

Dean seemed to sulk as he refocused on driving, but Sam’s reasoning couldn’t be argued with.

Sam was about to zone out and forget about the whole conversation when a flash of blonde hair caught his eye. Sam’s head whipped around. She was as beautiful as always, smiling at him sadly and turning her head to follow the sight of the car. She seemed to be surrounded in a golden aura, glowing with sympathy and compassion. As the impala rounded the corner, her form disappeared behind a lamppost, and a heavy and sour sensation crashed atop Sam in stabbing waves as he realized that she was dressed entirely in white.

***

They drove aimlessly north for a solid five hours before stopping to grab a motel for the night. Sam pulled out his laptop to research other cases they could pursue to kill time while Dean went to grab Chinese takeout.

“Find anything?” Dean asked when he got back.

“Nah.” Sam shut his computer.

Dean set the bags of food on the table next to Sam and pulled up a chair. “Hey,” Dean said, “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s new.”

“Oh shut it. I think maybe we should take a break for a few weeks. From hunting.”

Sam’s eyes turned cold. “You just want to give up on finding dad?”

“I didn’t say that. We’ll still look for him. But Sam, no offence, but you’re kind of losing your shit.”

“Dude, it’s called mourning. Staying distracted is helping.”

“No, it’s not. After what happened in Toledo—”

“I am fine. Okay?”

“Quit lying to me, Sam. And quit lying to yourself. Look, I have an idea.”

Sam stayed quiet (well aware that Dean was right) while Dean pulled out his phone, scrolling through some pages until he found what he must have been looking for.

“I found a place a few hundred miles west of here. It’s a commune, for Wiccans. You can stay there for practically nothing as long as you help with the farming and stuff.”

“You want us to go to a relaxing farm so I can work on my mental health? Dean, what the fuck.”

“Okay, I know it sounds kind of lame, but we’ll be surrounded by other Wiccans. We can just like, meditate for a few weeks. Connect back to the earth or whatever. Find our roots.”

“Wow, how wholesome. And I’m sure this is a great way to help us find Dad.”

“It’s called tracking spells, Sammy.”

“We’ve already done like fifty of those!”

“Maybe someone there will have a better technique. There’s probably a few legit psychics there too.”

Sam couldn’t dispute that. “Fine, we can go, but only because it might help us find Dad. I can spiritually heal on my own. I’m an adult.”

Dean agreed that Sam was very much an adult. But he seriously couldn’t handle any form of healing by himself. His nightmares were only getting worse (hell, his vocal cords must be burned raw from screaming) and Dean wasn’t blind—he could notice the tension in his brother’s body (Dean was trying very hard to resist the temptation to massage Sam’s shoulders and stroke his hair), and the way he was so driven on finding Dad that it was consuming him inside out.

_It’s the only thing I can think about_.

. Dean wanted to find Dad just as much as his brother, but there was no way they could manage that if Sam was a mental basket-case and Dean was permanently constipated from worry.

It was about a three day drive to the commune. They didn’t speak much on the way there, just zoned out to Metallica and Zeppelin, fingers trailing out the open windows. The commune itself was a large expanse of farmland—acres of various crop fields and animal pastures. Closer to the main buildings were ritual sites with large circles drawn on the ground and altar tables in the center. There was a sign by the front office that read ‘Aphrodite’s Embrace Covenstead: A Home for the Wise.’ Dean noticed Sam dramatically roll his eyes at the commune’s name, and Dean had to forcibly suck back his laughter. This was good for Sam. Sam needed this.

The office itself was a tiny little cottage surrounded by three four-story apartment buildings. The office door was open, so Sam and Dean walked right in.

A woman who must have been in her early forties dressed in robes and decked out in pentacle jewelry sat at a desk equipped with a laptop, a slew of papers, and a few tasteful figurines of Bastet and Epona. She looked up as they entered, reading glasses sliding slightly off her nose. 

“May I help you?”

Before either Sam or Dean could answer, the phone on her desk began to ring. The woman held up a finger. “I’m so sorry, just a second.” She raised the phone to her ear. 

“Aphrodite’s Embrace, this is Angelia. How may I help you?”

Angelia was quiet, listening intently to whoever was on the other end of the phone. “Huh.” She glanced up, squinting her eyes at Sam and Dean. “I see.” She began to nod, jotting a few notes onto a piece of paper. “Alright, thank you very much, ma'am. I’ll let them know you called.”

Angelia set the phone back in its cradle. “Well, I suppose you two must be Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Sam and Dean’s jaws dropped in turn and they gaped at her. “That on the phone was one of your dad’s friends from Kansas, a Missouri Mosley, a local psychic.”

Dean met Sam’s expression, and a puzzle piece clicked into place simultaneously in both of their minds. Dad’s journal: I went to Missouri and found the truth.

“She informed me that the two boys who had just walked through my door were in need of immediate sanctuary and emotional reprieve, and that I should give them a room as soon as possible.”

It was usually Sam who addressed the two of them, but this time Dean jumped in, a bit awkward and lost. “Um, yeah. I guess she nailed it right on the dot…”

“Well, lucky for you two, we have plenty of open rooms.” Angelia smiled warmly, seeming to understand that they needed a little push to feel less uncomfortable. “Rent is $400 a month per person, but all the apartments are furnished, and that includes all utilities, meals, and attendance to our ceremonies and spiritual teach-ins. In turn, you help out with the animals and harvesting.”

“Sounds great,” Sam replied, deliberately controlling his tone to sound enthusiastic. 

“There’s usually an application process, but since you boys apparently need shelter right away, I’ll show you the open rooms and you can move in today if you’d like.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Sam replied. “But we don’t plan on staying very long.”

“That’s alright, we’re very flexible. Would you like a tour of the campus?”

Angelia led Sam and Dean to one of the apartment buildings behind the office. Not only was each apartment fully furnished with large beds and couches, but they were also equipped with washer, dryer, dishwasher, dishes and silverware. Everything was very clean and brightly lit, much unlike most of the places Sam and Dean had stayed in over the years.

Dean nodded approvingly after they’d been shown through all the halls and a floor model. “We’ll take it.”

“Excellent,” Angelia replied. “We’re very much in need of some extra assistance on the farm. Five of our tenants moved out a few weeks ago and we’ve been struggling to keep up with chores since then.”

Sam and Dean nodded in understanding. The point of Aphrodite’s Embrace was for healing and spiritual development, and Sam and Dean knew all too well that it couldn’t possibly be a permanent home. Eventually everyone has to move forward with their lives and face what they left behind.

“It would be excellent if you boys are willing to start working tomorrow,” Angelia continued. “You can of course have today to move in and get settled.”

“Thank you so much,” Sam replied.

Angelia suggested they each take a one bedroom suite, but Sam and Dean insisted they share a two room instead, since, they explained, Sam was having supernatural night-terrors and needed someone to keep an eye on him. Angelia was no dummy though. She was in no way blind to how close together the brother’s stood, how they kept casually bumping into each other, how they never missed an opportunity to clap each other on the shoulder or playfully punch each other’s arms There was all to obviously more than one reason why the boys wanted closer proximity. Angelia wasn’t even a little disturbed by the concept. The Goddess grants love where it is needed, and it is unfair to disregard Her divine work.

It took Sam and Dean approximately five minutes to move in, considering that all their positions barely filled two duffle bags. Sam wasted no time after, and insisted they go introduce themselves to their new neighbors to see who would help them find Dad. Dean decided to humor Sam—sooner or later, Sam would have to focus on healing. Angelia had said there was going to be a New Moon ritual in two days, and they’d both agreed to attend.

Since it was still mid-day and almost everyone was working outside, they decided to head to the barn. There were four horses, but it mostly consisted of cows, pigs, and chickens. Sam gave Dean a pointed look.

“What?”

“Looks like they’re self-instaining in all of their food sources.” Sam jerked his head towards the pig pens.

Dean shrugged. “Hey, fresh meat.”

“You know vegetarianism is a very wholesome lifestyle.”

“You’re a pussy.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam slapped Dean’s arm before they continued through the barn. In a stall towards the very back, there was a girl kneeling in the sawdust tending to a litter of newborn kittens. Sam squinted his eyes, trying to place where he’d seen that long, wavy red hair before.

“Lily?” he gasped.

The girl turned, looking rather confused. She studied Sam and Dean for a solid five seconds before blurting out, “Sam?!”

“Yeah!” Sam bounded forward, all puppy-dog smile and floppy hair to wrap her in a bear hug. “What’s it been, five, six years?”

“Oh my god, you’ve gotten so big!” Lily turned to study Dean. “And you’re Dean! Jesus, what are you guys doing here?”

“We sort of live here now,” Dean replied.

Lily pushed her hair up into a ponytail and out of her face. “It’s a really great place to live. What brought you?”

Sam shot Dean a pointed look. “We needed some ‘spiritual healing.’”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, returning Sam’s look with an equally hard one.

Lily pointedly ignored the silent argument going on between the brothers. “Me, too. After what happened, you know, the last time you saw me...it’s been hard. Really hard. Like, sometimes I worry that it’ll never end.”

Sam nodded, all puppy-dog eyes and sympathetic frown, and leaned in for another long hug. “How long have you been here?”

“Three months so far. I’m planning to stay through the year. What about y’all?

“As long as we need to,” Dean said firmly. “With all the other bullshit that’s going on, conveniently our Dad’s gone missing too. We’ve tried tons of tracking spells, but kept coming up blank, so we thought this might be a good place to find someone with a bit more skill.”

“Your Dad’s missing? Oh shit.” Lily hastily stood to her feet. “Hey, wait here. I have a friend who can help. Let me go get him real quick. Do y’all mind watching after the kittens for a sec?”

“Sure,” Sam replied eagerly before Dean could get a word in edgewise about his allergy.

Sam knelt down to pet them, scratching them behind their ears in turn and listening to them purr. Dean stood back, watching his enormous sasquatch of a brother adorn on such tiny fuzzy creatures.

One of those kittens, a little calico with black paws and a splotchy face stood up on itty-bitty legs and began hobbling towards Dean. Dean stood stock still, thinking that he should pick it up and return it to his siblings, but its eyes were so wide and green, and as it started weaving in between his legs and purring, Dean felt a warm tingling sensation move throughout his body and settle in his chest. Unconsciously, he reached down and gently picked up the kitten, keeping one hand on its backside and one under its belly so it’d feel secure. He held it up to his chest, where it began kneading and snuggling closer, purring loudly.

Dean expected to start sneezing, or at least get a rash, but that didn’t happen. Instead, that warm feeling in his chest intensified, and the cat wrapped its paws around his neck.

Sam looked up from the pile of furry munchkins to see his brother, eyes half closed, nuzzling his cheek against the little cat.

“Dean?”

“Mm?”

“Why aren’t you sneezing to death?”

“Dunno.”

“Oh my god. No way.”

“What?”

“I think you found your familiar.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open. The kitten tucked its chin under his neck. “Oh my god. No way.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“Dude. This is my cat.”

At that moment, Lily walked in with a man following in her wake. This time it was Dean’s turn to gasp. “Dave?”

Dave raised his eyebrows, momentarily confused, before his face split into a wide grin. “Dean! My man!” He walked over and gave Dean a playful slap on the shoulder. “How’ve you been?” 

“What are you doing here?” Dean inquired.

“Just needed to get my head on straight, ya know? You two know Lily? Kinda magickal that the four of us would end up here together, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, it is,” Sam replied, suspicion bleeding into his tone.

Dean turned to meet Sam’s gaze. “Lemmie guess Dean; this your brother?”

Dean turned the cat so that it was upside-down in his arms like a baby while he addressed Dave. “Yep, this is Sammy. Sammy, this is Dave—we met in Sedona a few years ago.” Dave reached out his hand to Sam, who shook it, studying Dave quizzically. “Heard a lotta great things about you, Sam.”

Sam smiled tightly and nodded, shifting his feet and looking just a little shy.

“So,” Dave began. “Your Dad’s missing?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, rubbing the kitten’s tummy with the tips of his fingers.

“I can help ya with that, for sure. We can talk to the cards and the pendulum later tonight once I finish up here.” Dave gestured with his head around the barn. “In the meantime, looks like you’ve found yourself a familiar.”

“Looks like,” Dean whispered, smiling softly like he was holding his newborn daughter for the first time.

“She tell you what her name is yet?” Lily asked.

Dean pressed an ear to the kitten’s stomach, frowning in concentration before smiling even wider. “Artemis.”

“The Goddess of the hunt,” Sam mumbled, smiling himself.

The four of them stood there, looking down at little Artemis.

“Dean,” Lily said, “you should do a binding ceremony with her as soon as possible to solidify your bond.”

“Whoa, I can keep her?”

“You kind of have to,” Lily explained. “The familiar chooses the Witch. It’s nobody’s place to say otherwise.

Dean looked like his heart might explode.

They said goodbye to Lily and Dave for the time being. While Dean set Artemis up in their apartment, Sam went into town to buy some cat food and a litter box. When he got back, Dean was sprawled out on one of the beds, dozing quietly with Artemis asleep in the crook of his armpit.

Sam quietly set up the litter box and food trays before slipping back out of the room and going in search of some type of food. The mess-hall was a long building behind the barn with rows of wooden tables and a kitchen in the back. Sam slunk in through the back door, grabbed a few apples from a bowl by the sink, and slunk back out. He meandered back to the barn, hoping to find Dave and ask around what time he wanted to help with the tracking spell.

There was a group of golden lab puppies outside the barn, following their mom around on stubby legs. Sam laughed inwardly at the chances of him finding a familiar within hours of Dean, but his mental laughter extinguished itself quickly when one of the puppies turned its head, made a tiny whining noise, and hobbled toward Sam, tongue lolling out and panting happily.

Sam’s chest tightened and his eyes began to water unexpectedly. Somehow, he just knew. This was Bones; or Bones’ soul, at least, having taken up residence in another dog that the universe would bring back to him. Sam sank to his knees in the grass and held out his arms, ignoring the salty sting of tears on his cheeks. The puppy leaped up, setting its paw on Sam’s chest and proceeding to lick his face thoroughly. Sam chuckled wetly. “What’s your name, little guy?”

The puppy’s tale wagged frantically.

_Eros._.

Sam abandoned his mission to find Dave and scooped Eros up, patting his mother on the head as he walked away. Rather than lashing out and biting for having her baby taken from her, she licked Sam’s fingers knowingly and nuzzled his hand with her nose.

Dean was awake when Sam got back to the apartment; Artemis sprawled out on his lap on the couch as he stared intently at Sam’s open laptop. Dean glanced up and noticed Sam’s vulnerable, open face, and the panting puppy in his arms.

“Dude. Seriously? Another?”

“Apparently.”

“Literally within two hours of Artemis?”

“Yep.”

“What’s its name?”

“Eros.”

“Of course my familiar would be named after a fierce hunter and yours would be a lovey-dovey sex crazed counterpart to Aphrodite.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, by the way,” Dean said, “how are we gonna, ya know, do this,” he gestured to the two furry babies, “while spending like ten hours in the car every day?”

“The Goddess wouldn’t have given them to us if she didn’t think they could handle our lifestyle.”

“Wow Sammy, already feeling your spirituality more.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Sam scratched Eros behind the ears. “Damn, now I have to get dog food too.”

“There might be some in the barn,” Dean suggested.

“Ugh, later.” Sam set Eros on the floor and flopped on the couch next to his brother. He tilted his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Hey, we gotta do that binding ceremony to solidify the bond with these two fur-balls.”

Sam peeked one eye open. “Now?”

“You know of a better time, princess? Lily said it had to be as soon as possible.”

“Since when does Dean Winchester follow rules on time?”

Dean stroked Artemis’ ears absently. “Since I became a new mother.”

Sam raked a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. Do you think we’ll need any materials?”

“Nah, just meditating will probably be fine.”

They proceeded to sit cross legged on the living room floor, familiars instinctively crawling into their laps. The ritual was very personal, so neither one spoke, just ran their fingers over their familiars’ fur and breathed deeply, focusing intently on a mental, emotional, and spiritual bond that connected them to the animals. The familiars responded in turn, radiating joy and love back at their humans, silently swearing lifelong loyalty and companionship.

After about forty-five minutes, Sam and Dean came out of their meditations simultaneously, hesitantly meeting each other’s gazes, asking without words if the other was okay. Dean gently removed Artemis from his lap and set her on the floor. “Hey,” he started, “we should probably go find—”

There was a knock on their door. Sam opened it to find Dave standing at the threshold, showered and no longer smelling of sawdust.

“Oh hey!” Sam exclaimed. “I was looking for you just a little while ago.”

“Y’all ready to do some spellwork?”

Artemis chirped from her new resting place on the couch.

Dave laughed. “Well, that little gal certainly is!”

The familiars clearly didn’t want to be left alone, beginning to weave between Sam and Dean’s legs and look up at them with wide eyes, so they carried them with them to Dave’s room.

Dave’s apartment was positively swimming in Wiccan paraphernalia. He had four altars dedicated to a different deity each (Athena, Ra, Apollo, and Bastet), spread around the living room. Another man was seated at the kitchen table.

“Sam, Dean, this is my husband Cameron.”

“Hey, man.” Dean shook Cameron’s hand first.

“Nice to meet you,” Sam said, repeating Dean’s gesture.

“We’re gonna work with the divination tools for a little while,” Dave told Cameron.

“Alright.” Cameron stood to kiss Dave quickly on the lips. “We still going to dinner later, babe?”

“Yep! This won’t take much more than an hour.”

Dave and Cameron had a two-bedroom apartment as well, but one of the bedrooms was dedicated solely to ritual and meditation. Dave pulled yet another altar table into the center of the room for them to kneel around.

“I think the pendulum would be the best thing to consult first,” Dave suggested. Sam and Dean agreed. Tarot cards mainly gave the reader spiritual advice, Ouija boards were just plain dangerous as fuck, and scrying required a deep meditative trance (they’d do it if necessary though).

Sam and Dean set Artemis and Eros on the floor, expecting them to wander around the room. Instead, the two familiars sat on their haunches next to the altar, looking up expectantly. Dave seemed totally unfazed by the animals’ behavior, and went over to a large chest filled with spiritual tools.

“We’ve tried a lot of spells before, but we just didn’t have the materials to give them the power they needed,” Sam explained.

“Hunting isn’t exactly a job that pays a lot,” Dean added.

Dave’s head jerked up as he faced the brothers. “Whoa. Y’all are hunters?”

Sam was about to forcefully step on Dean’s toe in response to his idiotic slipup, but Dave’s reaction made him stop. “That is awesome,” he continued. “You two are heroes.”  
6”4 tall Sam and ridiculously muscular Dean both blushed deeply enough to pass for fifteen year old girls.

Dave just chuckled as he proceed to locate a simple but elegant wooden pendulum board and a pendulum of lapis-lazuli stone on a silver chain. “Alright let’s do this,” he said, setting the board on the altar and the pendulum on top of it.

They all knew instinctively to start with a meditation to channel focus and a desired goal. Sam and Dean closed their eyes and conjured up a mental image of their Dad, focusing hard on his disappearance and their need to find him. Dave focused on opening his third eye and absorbing the energy, thoughts, and emotions Sam and Dean were radiating outward.

When they were all in a substantially meditative state, Dave raised his eyes, asking silently for one of them to ask a question. Since pendulum boards didn’t have individual letters, it had to be one with a yes or no answer.

While Dave held the pendulum perfectly still in the center of the board, Sam asked the first question. “Is John Winchester still alive?”

The pendulum began to sway ever so slightly, gradually picking up speed until it was clearly swinging vertically, signifying that the spirits were saying yes.

Dean asked the second question. “Is he closing in on the demon?” Another yes.

Dave didn’t bother to ask what the demon thing was about, figuring it to be a personal question. Sam asked next. “Does he want our help?”

_No._.

Dean and Sam exchanged a meaningful glance. Dean’s turn. “Does he need our help?”

_No._

Sam: “Should we try to find him anyway?” Diagonal swing.

_Don’t know._.

“Oh come on!” Sam shouted, abruptly snapping out of his own meditation and jolting the other two out of theirs as well. “We can’t just sit on our asses and hope for the best! We gotta--”

Dean interrupted him. “Should we just sit on our asses and hope for the best?” The pendulum swung vertical again.

_Yes._.

“This is ridiculous!” Sam was fuming. “Mom and Jess are dead because of this demon and we can’t help at least track it?”

The pendulum answered for him, even though the question wasn’t actually directed to it.

_No._.

“For fuck’s sake!” Sam grabbed Eros from the floor and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Dave widened his eyes at Dean. “Well someone’s testy today.”

Dean drew his hand over his eyes. “Yeah. Dude, I’m sorry. He doesn’t mean to be a dick. He’s just in a rough place right now.”

“So um, not meaning to get too personal…but what is all this about a demon killing your family?”

Dean closed his eyes tightly and sighed. “I don’t mean to keep you out of this, I mean, you deserve to know, after you’ve helped us and all…but…”

“Hey, I get it. It’s all good.” Dave cleared off the altar and began putting the pendulum away. “We can talk about it later. Or never, if you want. Just don’t hesitate to come to me, or anyone else here, if shit hits the fan.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate that, really.”

"Hey, quick question though, if you don’t mind.”

“Shoot.”

“You said you’ve done all these tracking spells…why not use a pendulum board straight off the bat?”

Dean sighed. “Honestly? I don’t think Sam really wanted to know what the spirits thought about the whole thing…he already had too much on his plate, and finding out something you don’t really want to hear doesn’t exactly make things any better. Which, now that I think about it, is probably why none of them worked. And I didn’t want to push him.”

Dave nodded. “I can tell. Poor guy. Jess, the girl who passed away, was that his girlfriend?”

“Yeah.”

Dave pressed his lips together, thinking. “Were they in love?”

“More than anything.”

Dave chewed the inside of his cheek. “You sure about that? I mean, dude, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’m not retarded.”

“We’re brothers.”

“You look me in the eye and tell me you two haven’t pictured each other naked.”

Dean turned red and hastily began scratching Artemis behind the ears.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Hey, you probably don’t want to hear my opinion, but I’m gonna give it to you anyway.”

Dean remained quiet, allowing Dave to continue.

“Cameron and I have gotten a lot of shit over the years just for being gay. And through it all, I realized something. So long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, I don’t think there’s such a thing as a love that isn’t sacred. Ya know?”

Dean closed his eyes. “But this is incest. Isn’t that just a little fucked up?”

“Honestly? I don’t think so.” Dave paused for a moment, thinking about what to say next. “Dean, talk to your brother, okay? I’m pretty sure the reason he’s been so pissy lately isn’t just about your Dad.”


	11. All Love is Sacred (Narrated by Aphrodite)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is explicit sex in this chapter! Hooray!

When Dean got back to the apartment, Sam was sitting on the floor with Eros in his lap, staring intently at a tarot spread in front of him.

“Hey,” Dean started.

“Shh, trying to focus.”

“’Kay.”

Dean set Artemis on the floor to wander around while he took a shower. Being on a farm, even for only for a day so far, made you really fucking dirty. The water turned brown as it trickled off him. Usually Dean would jerk it in the shower, even with his brother in the next room (men had needs after all), but for whatever reason today, he wasn’t feeling it.

Sam was packing up the deck when Dean walked out with a towel wrapped around his waist. “Figure out what you wanted to?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, sounding so forlorn and almost heartbroken that Dean’s chest constricted.

“What was it?”

“Just…if the pendulum was right. If we should just stay here, and let Dad do his thing by himself. And work on ourselves too.”

Dean nodded and prompted Sam to elaborate. “And?”

“And it was right. I mean, I don’t like it, not one bit, but if this is what the universe wants us to do, then this is what we’ll do.”

Dean wasn’t a dumbass though. He could tell Sam was still pissed about the whole ordeal from the way he shoved the cards back into their case more forcefully than necessary, scowling the whole time, nose crinkled and eyebrows drawn.

Dean let Sam be pissed and meandered over to his duffle bag (he had yet to move his clothes into one of the dressers), thinking of how to respond. “Hey, believe me,” he said finally, “I’m not a fan of it either. I mean, it’s Dad. But…there’s something about this place, ya know? It’s only been a day and we already have familiars. Like, what are the chances of that?”

Sam had to agree. He gently moved Eros off his lap and stood, cracking his back. “Hey, you hungry?”

“Uh, always.”

“Good, ‘cause I think they’re serving dinner now.”

“Oh right, free meals. Sweet. Let me just change real quick.” Dean headed into one of the bedrooms with his clothes and shut the door. Sam sat down on the couch, staring into space.

Dean came out dressed in torn jeans and a tight t-shirt that emphasized his abdominal muscles and triceps exquisitely. Sam aggressively chose to ignore this.

They decided to leave the animals in the apartment since it was getting dark. Artemis and Eros seemed to be getting along just fine, so they had no qualms about leaving them alone together.

The grass was knee high in places on the way to the mess hall, and with the moon a tiny sliver in a cloudless expanse of stars and crickets and frogs chirping, Sam and Dean both had to admit internally that this place was extraordinarily beautiful.

The mess-hall was half-full of people sitting around the various long tables and gorging themselves on lasagna, spinach salad, and garlic bread. Sam and Dean went up to the buffet near the back of the building by the kitchen and heaped their plates full to the brim, suddenly ravenous.

They both spotted Lily sitting with another girl, Angelia, and a much older woman who had to be in her late eighties. Sam and Dean made their way over to the group. Lily and Angelia greeted them with smiles, and Lily introduced the pretty blonde next to her as her girlfriend, Amanda. 

The older woman beside Angelia was Beatrice, the High Priestess of the Covenstead, who ever-so-coincidentally happened to have been roommates with Missouri Mosley back in college. She was quiet and soft spoken, only talking when addressed personally, and giving short but concise responses. She was very kind though, and made sure to tell Sam and Dean explicitly that she was grateful for their presence at the Covenstead. Sam and Dean agreed to start working in the fields to harvest the wheat and corn the next day, and help exercise the horses. The New Moon ritual would be the day after, and it was supposed to be a very sacred affair—a two hour long ceremony focusing on growth, change, and acceptance.

After Dean and Sam had stuffed themselves to bursting with vegetarian lasagna, they made to move from the table since Angelia, Lily, and Amanda had already left to turn in for the night, but Beatrice stopped them with a hand on each of their arms. “Sit with me for another minute,” she suggested.

They both sat back down, crossing their arms on top of the table in unison, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the priestess. “I don’t mean to intrude on your personal affairs, but I can’t help but notice that your auras seem to be in a bit of distress.”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks.

“Listen, boys, I hope you know that what you feel for each other is perfectly natural.”

“Excuse me?” Sam asked.

“Your souls have been intertwined for many lifetimes,” Beatrice said, voice taking on a tone of far off reverence. “For hundreds of years, you two have been together.”

“We’re brothers—” Sam started.

“You are soulmates. This is not the first nor the last time that you two will be family. You must know that what is between you is not sinful. It is the work of the Goddess. Nothing you two do together will disappoint her.” Beatrice rose from her seat. “I should turn in. I will see you both soon, Sam and Dean Winchester.” She stacked all of their empty plates together and floated off to return them to the kitchen.

Sam spoke first. “Let’s head back.”

“Yeah, okay.”

The walk back to the apartment was silent other than the crickets and frogs humming. Artemis and Eros were curled together in a ball on the couch, fast asleep. Sam grabbed some sweat pants and a wife-beater out of his duffle bag and went into the bathroom to change. Dean opened Sam’s laptop to search for some cases that might be around the area, just to keep themselves busy if they started to get stir-crazy from all the wholesomeness of this place.

Dean heard Sam start to wash his face and brush his teeth, so he figured Sam would be in the bathroom for a few minutes longer. Dean found his own pajama bottoms and warn Zeppelin t-shirt and went into one of the bedrooms to change. They hadn’t decided yet when bedroom belonged to whom, and since they were both equally sized, there was nothing really to fight over.

Dean’s pants were halfway to his ankles when the bedroom door opened and Sam walked in.

“Holy shit, Sam, what the fuck!” Dean frantically fumbled to pull his jeans back up as Sam slowly backed away.

“Dude, what the fuck yourself. I thought this was my room. Weren’t you sleeping in the other one earlier?”

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, maybe?”

“Ugh, whatever.”

Dean waited for Sam to leave, but he didn’t—he just stood on the edge of the doorway, looking uncomfortable and confused.

“Um, can I help you with something?” Dean tried to sound sarcastic, but his voice came out cracked and helpless. Sam’s mouth was parted slightly and his pupils were wide and dilated. Dean felt his jeans began to grow rather uncomfortable. “Uh…” he started, but the thought disintegrated as Sam started to walk slowly into the room.

“Dean.” Sam licked his lips. “What if…what if we share a bedroom. Like when we were kids.”

“Um.”

“It’s just…it’s hard to sleep by myself. With the nightmares and all. We don’t even have to touch each other. I just don’t want to be alone.”

“You sound like you’re twelve, Sam.”

“Dean, please. Just for tonight, at least. I’ll even sleep on the floor.”

Dean took a few steps towards his brother, studying his face intently. “This isn’t about the nightmares, is it?” he asked.

“It’s about a lot of things.” Sam’s breath came shallowly, his cheeks flushed red.

Dean shuffled closer to Sam until they were right up in each other’s space. He placed his palms on either side of Sam’s face. Sam’s eyes fluttered shut and he relaxed under his brother’s hands.

Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips chastely, gently, to Sam’s forehead. “Yeah,” he whispered, “me too.”

They stood still like that for a solid few minutes, connected by Dean’s hands and the synchronization of their breathing. “Dean,” Sam mumbled after a while. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Sammy.”

When their lips met this time, it was more akin to the very first time they kissed than the most recent. It was all soft and slow, tentatively exploring. When Dean’s tongue breached Sam’s lips, they both gasped quietly and leaned into it, Sam allowing Dean to feel silken skin of his own tongue.

Gradually, hands began to drift lower. Dean released Sam’s face, moving his palms to wrap around his brother’s lower back, pulling him in closer. Both their cocks were hard and swollen, and their breath hitched when their pelvises connected and began to rub against each other.

Their movements sped up. The kisses became frantic, searching, teeth nipping and lips wandering to suck on necks and the edges of jaws. Sam’s hands found their way under Dean’s shirt and began to lift it over his head. Dean did the same to Sam’s, and now they had the entire expanses of their chests to run their hands over.

Sam placed his palm gingerly over the bulge in Dean’s jeans. “Dean.” His eyes looked almost completely black in wanton desire. “Can I?”

“God, Sam. Yes.”

Sam deftly unzipped Dean’s jeans and pressed his hand flat against Dean’s cock, feeling the heat radiate from it. Dean groaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes as Sam began to rub his hand up and down along the bulge. Sam’s fingers slipped underneath Dean’s boxers and slowly began to pull them down.

Sam expected Dean to resist, but Dean just leaned his chin against Sam’s shoulder and bit his ear, making Sam hiss loudly.

Sam couldn’t resist anymore. He dropped to his knees, stroking Dean’s cock in one hand, licking his lips. Sam looked up from the ground to meet his brother’s eyes, pleading silently. Dean pressed his hand to the back of Sam’s neck and gently pushed him forward, saying yes.

Sam licked a long stripe from the base of Dean’s dick to the tip, swirling his tongue around the underside and nursing the slit. Dean moaned obscenely, hands scrambling to tighten in Sam’s hair and yank him closer. Sam took Dean all the way to the back of his throat, bobbing his head up and down, eyes fluttering shut from the taste. He pulled off for a moment, resting his cheek against Dean’s thigh.

“You love this, don’t you.” Sam muttered. “Love your baby brother sucking your cock.”

“Jesus, Sam. Don’t stop.”

“Say it.” Sam’s voice was raw, determined. “Tell me how much you love it.”

“Sam, love it so much. Love you so much.”

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” Sam’s eyes were wet, and he took Dean all the way back down his throat again before he could reply.

“Sam,” Dean said after a minute. “Sam stop.”

Sam pulled back immediately, looking devastated. Dean reached down and ran his fingers over his brother’s jaw gently. “Shh, it’s okay. I just mean I’m close.”

“But I want you to come for me.”

“I will sweetheart, I will.” Sam’s whole being seemed to glow at the pet-name. “Want you to come too though.”

Sam’s cheeks reddened more than they already were. “Wanna fuck me, Dean?”

Dean tilted Sam’s chin up with two fingers and knelt down so they were on the same level. “Yeah Sammy, gonna fuck you.”

Clothes were ripped off too quickly to savor, but they couldn’t bring themselves to care. Dean swept Sam in his arms like he weighed nothing (even though Sam was practically twice Dean’s size) and placed him carefully on the bed, where Sam wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck and pulled him down for a wet, messy kiss

They didn’t have any lube, but Dean did have a lubed condom in his wallet, so that would have to do. Dean held his fingers up to Sam’s mouth, and Sam took the hint, swallowing them down to the knuckles and sucking them hard, soaking them. They both groaned at the sensation, reveling in the subtle intimacy of the action.

Gently, so gently, Dean drew his fingers from Sam’s mouth, and lined one up with Sam’s tight, pretty little hole.

Sam gasped loudly as the finger breached the rim, sinking slowly past the first rings of muscle. Dean went slowly, taking his time with Sammy, opening him up and making him writhe on his fingers when he found Sam’s sweet spot.

“Dean, please. Can’t wait any longer. Need you.”

Dean fidgeted with the condom for a few seconds before lining himself up with Sam. He sealed his lips over Sam and kissed him deeply while he pushed in carefully. They both moaned and sobbed a little at the sensation—something neither of them had experienced before.

Dean began to move, drawing all the way out as slow as possible, then pushing back in even slower, aiming right at Sam’s spot, making Sam squirm and beg so prettily.

Neither of them lasted long. Dean’s orgasm slammed into him unexpectedly, and not wanting Sam to fall behind, he wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock, and instantly they were both falling apart.

That’s how they fell asleep, tangled together naked and sweaty, Dean still deep inside Sam. As they drifted off, they could have sworn they both heard the voice of Aphrodite whisper,

_fucking finally._.

***

Sam awoke to Dean nibbling at his neck, fingers splayed over his belly. Sam groaned and rolled over, hiding his face in Dean’s chest.

“Sleeping…”

Dean mouthed at the top of Sam’s head. “You were smiling in your sleep.”

Sam’s eyes fluttered open and he propped himself up on his elbow, peering down into sea-green eyes highlighted by a sky of freckles. “I must’ve been happy.”

“You sappy little shit,” Dean grinned, drawing Sam down for a wet kiss.

They couldn’t stay in bed for long. They had chores to do on the farm, and Eros and Artemis needed to be let outside.

They dragged themselves out of bed, groaning and grumbling.

“You wanna shower first?” Sam asked.

Dean’s mouth twitched. “We could shower together. If you want.”

Sam’s pupils dilated and he positively growled as he prowled towards Dean, palms cupping his face and mouth claiming his lips in a fierce kiss.

Dean chuckled lightly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The journey to the bathroom took much longer than necessary, as Sam and Dean had their bodies pressed together chest to chest, biting at lips and ears, hands roaming the broad expanses of shoulders and lower backs, pausing every few seconds to moan into each other’s mouths.

They finally managed to step into the shower, hastily turning on the facet. Sam backed Dean up against the shower wall under the spray and kissed him deeply, drawing the air out of his lungs and feeding it back to him as he ground their cocks together.

“Sammy,” Dean gasped, hands finding leverage in Sam’s hair, “gotta…get clean…chores…farming…”

Sam broke the kiss, trailing his nose along the hallow of Dean’s throat. “So responsible lately,” he murmured, “such a good boy.”

Dean scoffed. “Do I gotta prove how naughty I am to you, Sammy?”

“Oh god. Yes. Later. Tonight.”

They at last brought themselves to break apart enough to grab the soap and scrub each other down, gently mouthing at each other’s dicks as they knelt on the shower floor to soap up legs and feet. They gently scratched shampoo and conditioner into each other’s scalps, kissing necks and collar bones as heads were leaned back and rinsed off.

When they were acceptably clean, Dean smirked at Sam. “How about a happy photo finish?”

Sam was all too eager to oblige. He pressed their bodies together, lining up their hard cocks and grasping them firmly in his right hand. He poured a little conditioner onto his left and brought it down to slick them up, and then began to jerk them off together, excruciatingly slow and sweet. Sam and Dean’s heads both fell forward, chins resting in the nooks of shoulders as they gasped at the sensation. It didn’t take long for them to peek, Sam stripping their cocks fast and hard as they came all sick and messy against each other’s bellies, gasping and shuddering in each other’s arms.

They cleaned themselves off once again before toweling dry and dressing in old jeans, warn shirts, and working boots.

“Wanna go to the mess hall or eat here?” Sam asked. “The cabinets and fridge are filled with food.”

“Here’s good,” Dean replied.

Sam nodded in agreement and began boiling a large pot of water. “Tea or coffee?”

Dean swallowed, meeting Sam’s gaze. “Tea.”

Sam flashed back to where Dean must have, when they were kids, sipping tea in blanket forts to ward off hunger. Sam walked over to where Dean stood at the other end of the kitchen and quickly kissed him on the cheek. “Sure.”

They sat at the kitchen table sipping black tea and munching on Captain Crunch, relishing the comfortable silence until Artemis began meowing from the door with Eros, both wanting to be let outside. Sam opened the door for them and the animals easily found their way through the hall and down the stairs to the dog/cat flap on the front door of the building.

Sam and Dean brushed their teeth together after breakfast, shoulders brushing, shoving each other out of the way to spit into the sink and rinse off their toothbrushes.

They made it to the barn by 9:00, two hours later than they’d originally planned. Most of the other residents were already in the fields, but they managed to find Lily grooming one of the horses. “You’re late—” she started, before her eyes landed on the dark hickey in the hallow of Sam’s neck, and she coughed hastily to hide her smirk. “Anyway, since the fields are full, y’all can muck out the stalls and put fresh sawdust on the floors.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “We have to clean up horse shit?”

“And pig, cow, goat, and chicken shit,” Lily elaborated.

“Awesome,” Dean mumbled, resulting in Sam slapping his arm and giving him a stern just do it look.

It took nearly five hours to clean out all the stalls in the barn, as they had to move the animals into the field first, then move them back in, then clean out the field, repeat the process with each stall, and then go back and quickly scoop up whatever mess the animals had made while they were cleaning the stalls of the others.

They made it to the mess hall for a quick lunch around 2:30, stealing a few short kisses on the walk there while no one was looking. For the rest of the day they cleaned horse tack, swept the barn corridor, and fed all the animals.

Sam and Dean finally made it back to their apartment around 7:30, covered in dirt and hay and swelling with new-forming blisters. Eros and Artemis were already outside their door, waiting to be let in. Once inside, the four of them collapsed on the couch, Sam and Dean sprawled out like starfish and the familiars seated on their laps.

“And I thought hunting was exercise,” Dean huffed.

“Full Moon ritual tomorrow,” Sam mumbled. “The day will be cut short so we can get ready.”

“Awesome.” Dean slung an arm over his eyes. He fell sideways, head landing on Sam’s shoulder. Sam stroked his brother’s hair lazily with his left hand and petted Eros with his right. They were too exhausted for sex, so when they finally dragged themselves off the couch and into the bed, they just slept, limbs all tangled together and snoring softly as the familiars slept at their feet.


	12. Full Moon (Narrated by an Omnipresent Deity)

The ritual wasn’t supposed to start until 8:00pm, and since the work day ended at 2:00, it was implied that everyone was supposed to spiritually prepare, as the ritual was supposed to be a highly intense experience. Sam and Dean took turns taking ritual baths—the tub filled with hot water, essential oils, and herbs, and the bathroom counter lined in lit candles and an incense burner—while the other meditated and grounded, focusing on the earth entering and cleansing them. The familiars came back to the apartment around 4:00 and acted docile and quiet, sleep on the bathroom floor or beside their meditating human.

Fasting before rituals is never required—it’s important for the body to remained nourished for spiritual work—but Sam and Dean decided to feast afterward, and drank tea together cross-legged on the floor. About half an hour before the ritual started, they put some sugar-cookies from the cabinet on a plate for an offering to the gods, and dressed in loose, comfortable shirts and jeans (since they didn’t have any ritual robes).

The ritual was being held in the field with the pre-drawn circle that they’d passed by one the drive in. Candles were already lit and people were milling about in conversation or sitting on the ground in meditation. Sam placed the cookies on the offering table and then returned to Dean, who was already standing at the circle’s edge in the north corner. Sam grabbed his brother’s hand and brought it to his lips, softly kissing his knuckles. If anyone noticed the gesture, they didn’t care.

Lily, Amanda, Dave, and Cameron filed in a few minutes later, setting their offerings on the table and making their way to the edge of the circle, smiling and waving at Sam and Dean. Everyone drew quiet as Angelia and Beatrice entered the circle. They made their way to the circle’s center, where Angelia grabbed a large bell and began to walk the circle clockwise, ringing it rhythmically to cleanse the sacred space of negative energy. Beatrice lit some incense, then picked up an athame, and holding it downward, she walked the circle clockwise as Angelia did three times about, casting the circle. “I conjure thee, O circle of power…” If one were to look closely, they could see a faint stream of white light flowing from the athame and settling around the circle, forming a secure bubble.

It was then time to call the quarters. Being in the north quarter, Sam evoked Earth. Lily evoked air, and the last two elements were evoked by commune members Sam and Dean hadn’t met yet. When it was time to evoke the gods, Sam and Dean were surprised as Angelia guided Beatrice through the process of invoking the Goddess into her body. Deity was now physically in their presence, watching over them in this sacred rite.

Beatrice, now embodying the essence of all feminine energy, requested that everyone shut their eyes, and began to lead the circle in an introductory meditation.

“Feel your feet firmly planted onto the earth. There are roots extended from your soles and toes that trail deep, deep down into the soil, burying themselves into the ground. You now absorb the Earth’s pure energy through those roots and feel it radiating up, up into your body filling you completely with light. Now feel branches extending from your head, traveling up, up into the sky, brushing the heavens with their leaves, and the pure, vibrant energy from the sky trickles down into your body, filling you completely with light. You are now connected fully with heaven and earth. Hold their power within you as you visualize yourself in someplace you find sacred, someplace you can with no doubt call home.”

Sam and Dean both mentally traveled to the back seat of the impala, heads resting on each other’s shoulders, humming softly along to Def Leopard as the wheels sped across the pavement.

“This is where you feel safe, at peace. This is a place that will always be there, will always be a constant. But change is an ever-present phenomenon, and often, that concept of home is taken away from us.”

_Sam leaving for Stanford, Dean alone on the road, Dad missing with no way to contact him, Mom and Jess dead…_.

“Yet time and space are circular, and balance is the key to creation and existence. Nothing is created nor destroyed, it only changes, morphs into something new. Visualize your home disintegrating, but like a phoenix from the ashes, it does not become nothing, but transforms into something that serves your needs more efficiently than before, something that provides you with what you need now, in this moment, for what was destroyed is no longer helpful along your spiritual journey…”

_Back in the impala, just the two of them, saving people, hunting things, always together, sweet kisses in the morning and laughing as they roll and fight for dominance on the mattress at night, hands touching, shoulders brushing as always, always brothers, brothers who love each other with their entire being, who’s souls are intertwined, who’s love is sacred now and forever._.

Sam and Dean shared that vision as the ritual continued, and by the time the meditation ended, the energy they’d borrowed from the Earth and heavens returned, the quarters devoked and the circle closed, they were turned to each other, all watery smiles and eyes radiating love.

Beatrice had yet to devoke. The Goddess approached the brothers, and gripped each of their hands in each of hers. “Blessed Be,” she told them, smiling brightly, expression radiating nothing but approval and unconditional love for her children.

As Sam and Dean walked back to their apartment, hand in hand, Dean stopped Sam halfway there and pulled him in for a long hug, kissing his forehead and brushing his shaggy hair out of his eyes. “I know it’s private, and that I’m not supposed to ask, but…”

“You wanna know what I saw? In the meditation?”

“Yeah. Ya know, if you don’t mind.”

“Find Dad,” Sam replied. “But not right now. You were right. I gotta get my shit together first. And I like it here. Sure, I’m still pissed, but I just have to live with it. I have to heal. I can’t hunt, can’t be helpful to anyone, especially not Dad, if I’m not all there. What about you?”

“I saw us, together. As always. Dean cupped Sam’s face in one of his hands. “We’ll figure it everything out, Sammy. Promise.”

They sealed their promise under a cloudless sky with a kiss that did most of the talking. On some far away spiritual plane, Thor scowled as he handed Aphrodite a hundred dollar bill.

_“Fucking told ya,” she said,_.

smirking knowingly as she tucked it into her bra.


	13. Epilogue -- Six Years Later

Dad was dead, and so were Ellen, Jo, Ash, and Pamela. More importantly though, so was Ruby, and although Lucifer wasn’t officially dead, he was locked up back in the cage. The world was saved, for now, and Sam and Dean were tired. Tired, and more in love than ever.

Eros’ head stuck out of the car window and his tail wagged frantically as they soared down the highway. Artemis slept beside him in the backseat, tail curled around herself, purring contentedly. They arrived at Aphrodite’s Embrace in late evening. Angelia greeted them at the front office with bear hugs and cups of steaming hot chocolate.

“I bet I can guess why you two are here.”

“Oh?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised teasingly.

“You two are getting handfasted.”

“Damn right,” Dean replied, grinning so hard Sam swore his cheeks might split. He kissed Sam on the cheek. “Gotta put a ring on this.”

“You two are as adorable as ever,” Angelia commented.

Their old apartment was available, but Sam and Dean requested a single bedroom this time. Beatrice came over to say hello to her former tenants, holding out a bouquet of roses as a congratulatory gift. The ceremony was scheduled for a week from then. Lily, Amanda, Dave, and Cameron showed up two days later, and Bobby came a day before the ritual. Sam and Dean had never received so many hugs in their lives as they did that week.

There was no walking down the aisle, no cheesy music, no extravagant preamble, just Sam and Dean standing over a cauldron filled with honey, hands intertwined and dripping with it as their family stood with them in the sacred rite of marriage. Beatrice bound their hands together, honey dripping from their fingers.

“I vow to torture you about your poor selection in music, to laugh at your ridiculously healthy food choices, to walk around naked as much as possible, and to let you top every other day,” Dean told Sam.

“And I vow to constantly give you shit for laughing at my lifestyle, let you finish the cereal, to loudly talk about our sex life in public to keep girls from hitting on you, and to love you unconditionally despite your many many flaws,” Sam returned.

“Do you, Dean Winchester, take Sam Winchester, to be your husband, here under the approval of the gods, forever and always, through this life and then next?”

Dean met Sam’s eyes. “Hell yes.”

“Do you, Sam Winchester, take Dean Winchester, to be your husband, here under the approval of the gods, forever and always, through this life and the next?”

“Damn straight.”

“Don’t you mean ‘damn gay’?” Dean smirked at his own dumb joke. 

“Damn gay, I take this dumbass to be my husband.”

“You may now show any socially appropriate display of affection you desire.”

Sam and Dean fist-bumped with their unwrapped hands, before leaning in for a kiss.

On an astral plane far, far away, wherein the gods occasionally acted very ungodly, Thor and Aphrodite were intently watching the exchange.

_“You owe me 100,” Thor said. “No way could they take their vows seriously.”_.

_“Fine, you win this one.”_.

As Sam and Dean Winchester bound their souls together before the gods though, they couldn’t help but exchange grins and vow in turn to protect their union throughout this life and the ones to follow.


End file.
